


Brotherly Love

by Saklani



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saklani/pseuds/Saklani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam share one perfect night together.  Sam wants more, but Dean thinks they have made a mistake which must <b>never</b> be repeated. Feeling rejected and alone, Sam spirals downward, while Dean watches helplessly.  Can he save his brother or has their one moment of bliss ruined everything between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before Leaving

**Author's Note:**

> I love underage and angst, so I persuaded Rini into writing this little tale of woe about Sam and Dean. Please enjoy!

Dean watched their tiny, rented house appear in the headlights of the Impala. With Dad in the driver's seat, he'd spent most of the week a passenger and it grated on his nerves. John had given him the car almost six months prior, and Dean already thought of her as his baby. But the sight of their place made a knot grow in Dean's stomach, the tension he'd felt since before they'd left. Sam was inside and at the moment, he was the last person Dean wanted to see. Turning to John, Dean said, "I'm gonna head out for a bit soon as we unload."

John frowned a little at his eldest, wondering why Dean didn't want to run in and check on his baby brother, which was usually his first response when they returned, especially after they'd been gone for so long. Still, he had no real reason to object, so he nodded and said, "You've earned it. That was a pretty sweet shot you made to take out the last ghoul."

"Thanks," Dean smile was genuine, the pleasure of a good word from his dad always making things better. "I'll go in with you and see if there's anything we need and grab that on my way home." Dean knew he needed to see that Sam was home and safe, before he could go out and relax.

John nodded, pulled the car into the driveway, stopped and hopped out, mind already on cleaning weapons, getting a drink and then sleeping.

Sam heard the Impala pull in, pushed away from the kitchen table, where his homework lay neatly, and raced out to greet Dean... and dad. His face glowed with joy at having Dean back after two weeks away. He never liked being dumped on his own, but he had missed Dean even more fiercely this time, since... A blush lit his cheeks, but it was more desire than embarrassment. Dean was back!

Dean climbed out of the car, shouldered his bag and turned in time to see Sam barreling toward him with a grin that split his whole face. He was glad to see that Sam was alive and apparently all in one piece, but the look on his face twisted Dean's guts harder than the anticipation of seeing him. Two weeks had been too long and not nearly long enough. Dean hadn't been able to outrun what had happened between them. "Sammy," he said, voice low and gruff, "grab the weapons outta the trunk?"

Sam skidded to a halt, a little confused by Dean's lack of reaction, but nodded once. "Hey, dad," he said to John, as he shouldered the weapon's bag out of the trunk. "Hunt go well?"

John smiled for his youngest, glad to see a contented expression for once on Sam's face. "Yeah. Everything good here?"

Sam nodded and said, "Yes, Sir, nothing at all happening around here. Just school and stuff." He shrugged and began to heft the bag toward Dean.

John felt a second's guilt that Sam no longer even bothered to fake telling him about school and then forgot as he turned his thoughts to the last hunt and what came next.

Catching up with his older brother, Sam bumped Dean's arm companionably and asked, "So, how was the hunt?"

Blinking at Sam, Dean responded without thinking. "Nasty bunch of ghouls, but we roasted them. Pretty normal, though it took a bit of time to figure out how many we were working against." Dean stepped away, frowning at how close Sam was and that he asked about the hunt. Sam never asked. It was an unspoken rule: Sam didn't ask, and John and Dean didn't talk about it. "School good?" he asked, the habit of taking care of Sammy embedded under his skin.

Sam smiled and nodded. "Got an A on my history midterm," he said. "Not much else going on, though. I mean... it's not hard or anything." He shrugged and tilted his head to look at his brother with adoring eyes. "I missed you."

Dean waited until Dad was in the house before turning to Sam. "What the hell, Sammy? Since when do you miss me? Or say it?" He blinked, freaked beyond thought that Sam was acting out of character. It was all his fault; he should have been stronger, should have said no and held to that decision.

Sam took an involuntary step back, stung by the words and the look on Dean's face. "I- I'm allowed to miss you," he stammered. "It's lonely to be by yourself for two weeks." He paused, eyes wide with hurt and gnawing on his lower lip. "I didn't mean it was your fault or anything. I'm sorry if you don't like me to say it... I won't again."

The look on Sam's face, the pain in his voice and eyes, left Dean feeling hollow and shitty. He dropped his bag and pulled Sam into a fierce hug. Sam hadn't meant anything by his words, and Dean was acting like an ass about them. "I'm sorry, Sammy. Missed you, too... two weeks is a long time without your smelly ass hanging around." He tried to tease Sam the way they always did, apologize to Sam in the only way he knew how.

The hug reassured Sam instantly, and he wrapped his arms equally tightly around Dean. He dared to press a quick kiss below Dean's left ear, since their father was safely inside. "Need something to eat? I can make you dinner."

Dean shook his head and stepped back, eyes a bit wild from Sam's kiss. "Nah, I'm going out soon as I get cleaned up and see what we need in the house." He backed further away and grabbed his bag, turning toward the house and hoping Sam would drop the subject. "Dad grabbed us burgers an hour ago."

"You're going out?" Sam asked, the hurt back in his voice and doubled this time. "But I thought you'd want to spend some time with me," he whispered, even as his mind whispered how stupid and needy he was.

"Sammy, I been on the road with Dad for a week. I wanna go out, let off some steam." Dean sighed, rolled his shoulders and tried not to look back at Sam. "Besides, I imagine you have some homework, and there's school tomorrow, which you can't miss."

"Let off some steam..." Sam whispered and then said in a louder voice, "You mean picking up someone to fuck."

Dean sighed, stopping in his tracks. "Yeah, Sam, I'm going out to find some cute chick and fuck her tonight. As much as I can, and for as long as she'll let me." There was weariness in his voice, pain for hurting Sam, and resignation from knowing that this was best because Dean could never touch Sam again. He should never have touched Sam at all.

Sam felt the bottom drop out of his world, as everything he had assumed since that night just over two weeks ago- that perfect, dreamy night when Dean had really shown him how much he meant- shattered into a million tiny slivers. "But you- We-" He couldn't fathom it, couldn't believe that Dean meant what he said. "I thought... why? Why?"

"It was wrong, Sam. Never should have happened. Won't happen again." Dean closed his eyes, back to Sam to hide his emotions, though he knew his voice was thick.

Sam's hands balled into fists, as the weapon's bag hit the ground with an angry clatter. "It wasn't wrong," he protested, tears choking his voice. "It was the rightest thing that ever happened to me, Dean. Please- please don't do this."

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Sammy," he croaked out, "you're my brother. My sixteen year old, baby brother. What we did is wrong on so many levels, Sammy, and you know it."

"I don't care," Sam said, unable to prevent the tears that now soaked his cheeks and leaked down his neck to his shirt. "We're not hurting anyone, Dean. I want this... so much..." He paused, staring at his feet. "You don't?"

"I can't." Dean's voice filled with pain, but he knew John would coming looking for them and the weapons soon. Turning, he did his best to ignore Sam, lifted the bag of weapons and headed inside. It killed him to leave Sam crying outside, but Dean couldn't afford to be weak about this... Sam was at stake, and Dean knew he'd get over it, probably quick and painlessly, once he really thought about it.

Sam stood there, tears still running down his face, unable to move. A huge chunk of his chest seemed to be missing, ripped out by Dean in a few careless words. Dean didn't want him. He was all alone with nothing. Just an endless life of hunting and being an outcast. Picking up people in bars to fuck. Scamming his way along with false credit cards and backroom bar hustling. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

John looked up from the kitchen table when Dean came in, noting that he was carrying the weapons. "I thought Sam was taking care of those," he said in a displeased voice. "Can't that kid even be relied upon to help carry a few damn bags inside?"

"Leave him alone, Dad. Please. I brought them in so that Sam could get back to his homework." Dean placed the bag of weapons on the edge of the table and sighed, Sam's homework had been shoved to the side of the table, likely not in an order he needed. "Sam had a tough time with the both of us gone for the two weeks." His voice assumed a note of pleading like it was hopeless to want or expect either thing to happen. Dean took his bag to his and Sam's room and rummaged in his dresser for a change of clothes.

John grumbled under his breath about Dean babying his brother too much. And when Sam dragged himself in several minutes later, he barked, "You know, we don't ask much of you, Sam. We let you stay here and do your schoolwork while we hunt. So, you've got no excuse for slacking on the damn few things we do ask you to do!"

He expected a smart response, or at least the defiance Sam usually displayed when John snapped at him. So, when Sam gave him a blank glance, mumbled, "Yes, Sir," stuffed his usually immaculate homework haphazardly in his bag and wandered off aimlessly, he did not know what to think. But as often happened where his youngest was concerned, he dismissed it as teenage hormones and went back to researching the harpy he wanted to hunt next.

Sam headed for the room he shared with Dean, stopped halfway there, stared blankly down the hall and then walked outside again. He dumped his backpack by the door and wandered past the Impala and down the block, not really heading anywhere, having nowhere to go.  
~~~~~~~~~~

The next few weeks blurred by in a dreary haze of pointless, endless seconds that dragged out into a never-ending future of 'who cares' for Sam.  He wandered through them, letting his grades slip and spending less and less time at home.  After a few days pleading with Dean and then watching him leave to fuck random strangers, Sam gave up and retreated completely from both his brother and father.  A normal day consisted of Sam saying less than five words to anyone, most of them 'yes' and 'no.'  So, when the quarterback of the football team propositioned Sam after PE, he blinked with surprise.  And then said, "Why not?"       
   
Sam felt amused by how much time the jock took to warm up, sharing a couple of joints and a lot of booze with Sam before being ready.  The fucking was just that, fucking, but Sam managed to get off twice, thinking about Dean.  The jock was nearly sobbing with pleasure when he finally emptied into Sam's ass, not even a condom between them.  It was two am before the jock dropped him in front of the dumpy rental house they were staying in, and Sam staggered inside, after ducking a goodnight kiss.

Dean sat on the couch, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand while he stared, almost blankly, at the television screen.  Every so often, Dean would look at the clock, scowl and take a slug from the bottle.  Sam wasn't home yet.  Sam never stayed out this late.  Dean was getting worried, but was determined not to freak out just because Sam was late.  When he heard a car pull up outside, Dean frowned and tipped his head back to watch Sam stumble in the front door.  "Have fun?" Dean asked, valiantly trying to remain neutral.

The remaining buzz from the booze and drugs evaporated at the sound of Dean's voice.  Sam headed for the kitchen and a glass or two of water, debating answering.  Finally, he settled for his normal recent conversations with Dean.  "Yes."  He considered that answer with a kind of cold amusement, as he gulped down the soothing liquid.  Honestly, it wasn't really the truth, though he hadn't had a bad time, either.  It hadn't really felt like anything.     

"A little late coming in, aren't you?"  Dean's voice was still level, mild, while he waited for Sam to come from the kitchen.  There wasn't a need to wake Dad, and Dean was determined to find out what the hell was up with Sam before John found out.

Sam finished his water, rinsed the glass out and then walked to the living room.  He didn't look at Dean directly, because looking at him hurt, and Sam preferred his dull world to that, focusing somewhere over his left shoulder instead.  "No."

"Sam, it's two am.  You never come in after midnight, and if I hadn't convinced Dad that you were off studying, you'd be in deep shit right now."  Dean glowered at Sam, finished his beer and plunked the bottle on the end table.  "So, where the fuck were you?"

Sam shrugged and said, "You don't have to make excuses for me."  He rubbed his face and considered whether to take a shower now or in the morning.

"Where were you?" Dean tried the question again, a slight edge to his voice.  If he wasn't mistaken, Dean could smell sex on Sam.  And not girl, but guy.  Not that it was any of his business, not really, but Dean always kept his eye on Sam, and now, Sam was acting out of character.

"Getting fucked good, if you really must know," Sam said dully, picking at a loose thread on one of the sofa cushions.  He decided to shower tonight and let John yell if he wanted.

Dean gaped at Sam, shocked at the callous way his brother spewed the words out.  He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of an appropriate response.  All he could come up with was something that he knew Sam might bristle at, as soon as he spoke.  "That your new hobby now, instead of schoolwork?"

"Not really," Sam said, tugging more of the thread out.  He wondered vaguely where Dean was going with this or if he even had a point at all.  What did it matter what Sam did with his time?  Dean didn't want him- he ruthlessly suppressed the surge of pain that tried to flood him- and he didn't exactly need to worry about his education to hunt, so what was the purpose to this conversation?

"The school called today.  Your guidance counselor is worried, Sam."  Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "She said that you've skipped school several times in the past few weeks and your grades have dropped dramatically.  What the fuck is going on, Sammy?"

Sam blinked and then shook his head a little at Dean.  "Does it really matter?" he asked with a rippling shrug of his shoulders.  "It's not like anyone here cares about my grades."

"I care, Sam.  You've always been so good at school, always cared about it."  Dean sighed, unsure of how to help Sam.  "Why don't you anymore?"

"Cause there's no reason to, is there?" Sam asked, rejecting Dean's mention of caring with a sneer.  "It's not like I'll get to do anything with it.  Maybe make some zombie smarter when he eats my brains..."

Dean blinked in surprise at Sam's bitter, negative attitude.  "Fine, Sam.  Never mind. Just don't let Dad catch you skipping or failing.  He'll punish you, and nothing I say'll help."  He pushed to his feet and stared at Sam.  "Wash the stink of the guy's come off before Dad smells you." 

Sam finally turned his blank, cold eyes to Dean's and said with utter contempt, "So, random guys can bareback me, and that's just fine, as long as dad doesn't have to be bothered with it? Figures."  He turned and walked down the hall. 

Catching up to Sam in the hallway, Dean spun him around and slammed him into the wall.  "You let him bareback you?  What the fuck were you thinking, Sam?"  Dean was right in his face, about as angry as he'd ever been at Sam.

Sam's breath huffed out in a pained rush, but he stared at Dean without expression.  "I was thinking I didn't really care," he said.

"There's one thing you don't fuck around with, Sam, and that's using condoms.  Jesus."  Dean kept Sam pinned the wall, heart slamming in his chest and fear lacing his body.  Sam was not this kid, was not the one who messed up like this- not ever.  "Talk to me, Sammy.  What's wrong?  Why don't you care about anything anymore?"

Sam opened his mouth and then closed it again with an audible snap.  He'd talked himself blue in the face about this, in fact, he'd cried and begged and pleaded until he didn't have a voice.  Why go over it again?  "There's no point," he repeated.  "Won't live long enough to die of AIDS anyway."

Dean stared at Sam, long and hard.  "I know you're smarter than that, Sam.  AIDS isn't the only thing you can catch.  Seriously, Sam, what the fuck is going one?"  He wasn't about to let Sam pass, though Dean could smell the musky scent of unknown guy all over Sam's body.  The fact that his brother let someone fuck him twisted Dean's stomach into knots that he fought to relax.  It wasn't his place to tell Sam   
to stop or get jealous of someone else touching him.

Sam didn't fight Dean, allowing himself to be pinned without a struggle.  He kept his gaze off his brother again, staring at the wall behind him.  "Can I go now?"

"You don't care what I say, do you?  Just going to do whatever you want and get hurt."  Dean shook his head and then let go of Sam, backing down the hallway.  He didn't know what to do for his brother. For the first time, Dean couldn't fix things because Sam wouldn't tell him what was wrong.

Sam shrugged and said, "You've got no call to talk," before heading toward their room. 

Dean followed Sam into the room.  "What's that supposed to mean?  I'm not out there trying to catch something, Sam.  Or fucking up my school work."

"Telling me that I don't care what you say," Sam said, digging through his clothes for something to sleep in.  He chose an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt, no longer bothering to try and entice his brother with a little skin. 

Sitting on the bed, Dean sighed.  He looked at Sam, really looked, and saw that his brother had lost weight.  "Talk to me, Sammy.  Tell me what's going on.  Why are you losing weight?  Not doing your school work?" 

"I'm not going over it again," Sam forced out, his teeth gritted to keep tears at bay.  He grabbed a pair of boxers and headed for the door.

Dean watched Sam go, blinking at his brother and not understanding him at all.  For the first time, Dean didn't get Sam.  He pushed off the bed and followed Sam down the hall, just stopping the bathroom door from closing in his face.  "Sam, talk to me.  Talk to me before Dad comes after you."

"Is that supposed to be a threat, Dean?" Sam asked, mouth twisting in contempt.  "You really think dad gives a fuck about me, except to keep from getting noticed?  Please.  I've outgrown happy fairy tales... only believe in the nightmares.  I've got lots of those.  So, what's an extra yelling session with the old man, even if he does smack me around?  I'm used to that."

Blinking at Sam, Dean saw for the first time that he really didn't know who Sam was anymore.  He shook his head, sadness and hurt creeping into his eyes, before he backed away.  "I had no idea you hated us so much, Sam."  His voice was low, quiet and pained.  Dean fluttered his lashes down and turned away from his brother.

Dean's pain didn't really make Sam feel any better, so he said, "I don't hate you.  Or dad.  This is just the way things are, isn't it?  I've finally learned better than to dwell on the crap I can't have.  To get hurt by all that anymore.  No more whining about having to leave another school behind.  No more getting attached to anything... or anyone.  Isn't that better for me?"    

"I knew you weren't happy with this life, Sam, but you never let it change you.  You never let it affect you... and you do hate us.  If that's what you think our life is, it's no wonder you hate us and it."  Dean shook his head.  "I'll talk to Dad.  Maybe we can leave you with someone for your senior year.  Then you can be yourself."

Sam lifted his head and considered this with actual interest.  "You think he would?" he asked, focusing on Dean for a moment.

"Maybe.  I'll talk to him in the morning... you can live your life without us."  The thought pierced Dean's heart, but he'd rather Sam go on with life on his own rather than fall into whatever had taken him over recently.  "You'll never have to bother with us again."

The door to John's room flew open, and he stuck his head out, barking angrily, "Are the two of you done yet?  I'm trying to get some sleep here, so we can pack up and leave tomorrow!"  

Sam glanced at Dean and then at their father.  "Tomorrow?" he asked without expression.

"Tomorrow?" Dean parroted the question. 

John scowled and folded his arms across his chest to glare at both his sons.  "There's been a rash of deaths from what I suspect to be a harpy, and we can't delay our leaving any longer.  I planned to have us pack up after Sam came back from school, but since you two don't seem to be interested in getting any sleep, you can pack up and be ready to go first thing in the morning."

  Sam nodded at John and said, "Sure.  Why not?"

Dean blinked.  "Yes, Sir, we'll be ready to go at first light."  He knew he could pack himself in an hour, not that he'd be ready to drive at first light without some sleep.

John stared blankly at Sam, confused again by his youngest's acceptance of the situation.  "Good, then.  Now shut up and go to sleep."  He turned and marched into his room, slamming the door shut.

  Sam smiled a little and said, "Well, I guess that settles what dad thinks of my education."  He turned to enter the bathroom.  "But thanks for your idea."

Sighing, Dean watched Sam go into the bathroom and close the door before looking at John's door.  He blinked, turned back to his own room, started to pull his belongings out and put everything on the bed for packing.  
~~~~~~~~~~

Sam leaned back in the front passenger seat of the Impala and watched the scenery with a bored expression. He paid no attention to his father and brother before they left, not caring about the hunt, so he had no idea where they were going. The landscape held nothing more than a series of endless agricultural fields with a smattering of sheep. Meanwhile, his brother played his music endlessly... and loudly. Sam figured he was getting a preview of Hell.

Dean beat his hands on the steering wheel in time to AC/DC, taking a minimal amount of pleasure in his music. Sam hadn't reacted to the loud music, and that was enough to tell Dean that Sam really didn't care about anything any longer. He'd been running their conversation over and over in his head, trying to come up with the best way to approach their dad about dropping Sam off.

"Hey, can we stop at the next rest stop?" Sam asked. "I need to pee." He looked around them and said, "Or maybe just pull over... well, anywhere, since there's nothing but a million stalks of corn around."

"Yeah. You hungry?" Dean wasn't sure there'd be a rest stop at any point soon, but he'd try to give Sam whatever he could, like he'd always done.

Sam shook his head and said, "Nah. Had a granola bar before. Peeing would be good, though. Anywhere you can pull over, Dean... please." He grimaced a little at his body's insistence.

Dean pulled the Impala over onto the shoulder, watching their father's truck continue on ahead. He knew where the next meeting place with John was, but the thought of being alone with Sam was not a comforting one.

Sam hopped out of the car, headed behind the corn and took care of business. He backed up and sighed a little, rubbing his head. He wished he knew what to do now. Without his connection to Dean, there really was nothing left. School meant something only when he had Dean there to cheer him on. Since Dean rejected him, there was no pleasure left in excelling at his grades. Hunting had never been his thing, except that Dean was there to encourage and badger him to do better.

Popping out the tape, Dean sifted through a few others before sliding Metallica in and turning the volume down slightly. He tilted his head back on the seat and closed his eyes, wishing he could fix whatever was wrong with Sam. But no matter how many times Dean asked, Sam wouldn't tell him what was wrong, what had caused the slide in his priorities.

Sam walked out of the fields and toward the Impala. He climbed into the car and flopped in his seat, stretching out his long legs. "Thanks."

"Yeah, Sam, let me know if you need to stop or eat." Dean blew out a breath and lifted his head. He rolled his neck back and forth, before putting the car into gear and pulling back on the road.

Sam nodded and rubbed the back of his right calf, gritting his teeth at the new pain of growing. He wondered if he was ever going to stop getting taller, since he had already equaled and surpassed both his father and brother.

"You get any sleep last night?" Dean asked, looking into the rearview mirror before focusing on the road ahead of them, wincing at the thought of all the flat land to the next job.

"Huh? Oh, a little. No less than usual." Sam spoke without any inflection, answering the question without expression.

Dean opened and then closed his mouth. As usual of late, Sam didn't want to talk to him, and Dean didn't know how to get through to his brother. He sighed and tried to lose his thoughts in the music, but with the volume lowered, he couldn't ignore Sam beside him.

"You can turn the music up," Sam said, staring at the scenery again. "You never like to turn the volume down."

Laughing without humor, Dean shook his head. "It's no fun if you don't care." He shrugged and rolled his head on his shoulders again. So much of Dean's life related directly to Sam, and what he would think or say or do. Dean had not realized how much he relied on that to get through the days.

"Huh, you don't say," Sam said with a snort of non-amusement.  "How about that?"  He  tapped a slow rhythm on his right knee. 

"Fine.  Whatever, Sam."  Dean turned the music back up, slid his sunglasses over his eyes and went back to staring out the windshield.  If Sam wanted to be a sarcastic ass, then Dean would just drive, do his best to ignore his brother and try and figure out a way to fix whatever was wrong.

They drove in silence, asides from the blaring music, for several hours, before pulling into an old truck stop for lunch.  Sam eyed the place, shook his head a little and climbed out of the Impala.  As he headed slowly for the doors, he caught a burly trucker watching him a little too closely.  Glancing over, he dropped his head and gave the guy a shy smile, dimples winking.  And smirked internally when the guy's face heated up. 

Dean walked briskly to John's side, leaving Sam to trail behind, since he knew he'd not have long to bring up the topic of Sam.  "Dad?" he asked, quiet strength in his voice.  "Something's wrong with Sam.  Very wrong.  I think we need to leave him off at Caleb's or Jim's for a bit."  He knew that it wasn't a solution, just a band-aid, but Dean needed to get Sam with someone he actually liked and respected.

John frowned at his eldest and then glanced over to where Sam lagged.  "Sam, get your ass over here!" he barked and scowled when Sam barely even glanced at him.  "He seems to be the same pain in the ass to me."

Without ratting Sam out completely, Dean was stuck with only telling John part of the truth.  "I think he's being careless... I know he had sex without a condom, Dad, and he's not happy.  Can't you see how miserable he is... how it's doubled in the last month?"

John's frown increased, nearly overwhelming his face.  "Without a condom?  I'm shocked Sam had sex at all.  He's usually got his nose stuck too far in a book to even care about other things."  He watched his youngest son stroll casually across the parking lot, his face the usual blank, sullen mask.  "I'll talk with him about the sex, but the rest is just being a teenager, Dean.  He'll get over it."

Dean wanted to scream at John's blindness, wanted to tell his dad the truth, so he'd know just how far off the track Sam had fallen.  But he couldn't and wouldn't betray Sam that way.  Dean ran his hand over his face.  "I already had the sex talk with him, Dad.  I'll try again and if it doesn't work, I'll tell you, okay?"  He really didn't want another screaming matching that night.

John paused for a brief moment, his paternal instincts warning him that he was making a mistake, but as usual, being a hunter concerned him first, so he nodded and walked into the diner.  "Get your brother in here," he called back.  
   
Sam gave the trucker a last look, knowing he would approach later, and then walked over to Dean.  "Time for greasy hamburgers on coffee-stained tables?"

"Yeah, Sammy.  If we're lucky, they might have fried chicken."  It was an old joke of theirs, but Dean did not know if Sam would respond.  So much of his brother had bled away, so that nothing Dean said got a reaction.

"I'll settle for something not overcooked," Sam said with a tired sigh.  He rubbed his right eye, which stung a little in the afternoon sun.  "Actually, think dad would mind if I skipped lunch?" 

Dean, feeling guilty now that John would actually miss Sam, said, "Yeah, Sammy, today he will.  I'll stop again later, if you want to get a salad or something."

Sam raised his eyebrows and said with a hint of dry amusement, "You tried to talk to him about me.  So, how did that go?"

"He said he'd talk to you, and I told him not to bother."  Since Sam was being a brat, Dean figured he'd be blunt.  "I told him you weren't listening, that you didn't care about anything, and he said you were just being a teenager.  But I don't fucking believe it, Sam, because this behavior isn't you.  Not by a long shot."  His stomach turned sour when he was reminded of the crap going on with Sam, so Dean wasn't in the mood for lunch anymore.  What he really wanted was to climb in the car and drive off.  But that wouldn't do any good either, so he opened the door and waited for Sam to walk inside.

Sam studied him for a long time and said, "And you honestly have no idea why that could be, do you?"  He shook his head in an impatient gesture, long hair flopping about.  "You could leave me here.  Social services would come for me."

Dean shook his head.  "I'm not leaving you to social services, Sam.  You're my fucking brother, even if you don't get what that means.  If you don't see that you're the fucking world to me, then that's just something you'll never understand.  But I won't leave you on the side of the road."  He hated that they were standing in the entrance of a crummy truckstop, fighting about something that neither of them could see the other side of.

A spark of anger ignited in Sam's eyes, and he surged forward at Dean, fists clenched.  "Don't you ever say that again, Dean.  I'm not the world to you.  I'm not anything to you, except some sort of burden you decided to martyr yourself with.  And if you think that's the same thing, then you're the one who'll never understand."

Grabbing Sam by the arm, Dean dragged him away from the door and the walkway.  "How the hell do you know what you mean to me, Sam?  You've never been a burden, not ever in my life."  He released Sam abruptly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I know because you pushed me away," Sam said, voice tight and low.  He had promised himself that he would never bring this up again, but he couldn't help himself.  He stepped back, turning his head away and fighting for the calm, blank facade he had perfected over the past weeks.

"I didn't push you away, Sam.  I just said we couldn't have sex again.  That's not the same thing at all.  You walked away from me, away from being my brother, away from my love."  Dean vibrated with anger, face heating at saying all of those things to Sam, but he wasn't going to shoulder the blame, when Sam had turned his back on him.

"You left me crying alone every night for a week," Sam snarled, "because you decided for us both that it was wrong.  As if there was any fucking part of this miserable life that's right!"  He turned his back on his brother and walked away.  "Tell dad I'm not hungry."

Dean watched Sam walk away and then spun on his heel.  He entered the truckstop in a cloud of hurt and anger, the emotions rolling off him uncharacteristically.  Sitting with John, Dean ordered two hamburgers and fries to go, as well as a couple of milkshakes and a soda.  He wasn't hungry, but knew they both would be later.  "Sam's not hungry and neither am I, Dad.  I'm just gonna grab him, and we'll hit the road again."

John looked up from his journal at his scowling son and said, "I'll take Sam for awhile, if he's getting to be too much to handle, Dean."

Dean was half tempted, but didn't want to scrape the blood out of the truck if he left Sam riding with John.  "Could we think about setting Sam down with Caleb or Jim for the remainder of the school year?"

John set down the journal and really focused on Dean.  "You're serious about leaving Sam behind somewhere?  You hate it when we go away for a few hours without him.  Even for the most serious hunts."

"Yeah, I know, but if he were with Jim or Caleb, he'd be safe, and we could call and check in."  Dean sighed and looked out the window to see Sam walking near the trucks.  "Dad, I really think something's really wrong.  Something more than being a teenager, and he won't let me help him fix it.  I think, maybe, he needs some space."

"Or maybe we've spoiled him for too long," John said, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table.  "Maybe what he really needs is to toe the line for awhile, until he understands how much we've really been babying him.  A few tough hunts, and he'll be back in order."

Dean shook his head, looked out the window and frowned when he couldn't see Sam.  "I don't think Sam's going to toe the line, but maybe not being left behind would be best."  Dean honestly had no idea and wasn't sure he could deal any longer.

John read the tension in Dean's body and sighed, wishing his youngest had taken more after his elder.  Dean had always fallen in line, loved hunting and obeyed John's orders without question.  But Sam... he had never accepted their life or his place in it.  "We'll see how he handles himself at this next hunt, Dean.  If he seems off, then I'll call Jim and see if he can watch after Sam for the rest of the school year."

"Thanks, Dad."  Dean smiled, a wave of relief washing over him.  He looked for Sam again and was worried that his brother was not visible.  Thanking the waitress, Dean grabbed the food she put on the table and nodded at his Dad once he stood.  "I'll see if I can't get him to come around by the time we stop.  Same plans for tonight?"

John nodded and said, "We've got another solid day of driving to go before we get there, Dean.  If Sam does get to be too much, I'll take him for awhile."  He returned to his journal, dismissing everything but the hunt from his mind again.

Dean nodded, but knew that John was focused on the hunt.  He hefted the food and headed back to the Impala.  The sun was hot while Dean crossed the lot, his eyes scanning for Sam and not finding him anywhere.  With the state his brother had been in, Dean knew that couldn't mean anything good.  Stowing the food in the back seat, Dean locked the car up and headed toward the row of trucks, where he'd seen Sam last.  At the next to the last truck, his stomach flipped and heart sank when he heard moans.  Dean prayed fervently that he was about to interrupt something that did _not_ involve Sam.

Sam sucked on the burly trucker's huge, dripping cock with something akin to dark amusement.  He had not given many blowjobs in his life, but he was a fast learner, and mastered everything this guy seemed to like with little trouble.  He'd waved off the hundred bucks the guy offered, willing to do it for free.  Now on his knees, the guys pants sunk to his ankles, he slurped away with neither glee, nor distaste.  The trucker, on the other hand, seemed to think he was the second coming, groaning, moaning, growling and calling him a string of names, including 'pretty little whore,' 'dirty boy,' 'sweetlips,' and Sam's personal favorite, 'hot, fucking cocksucker.'  

When Dean heard a moan that sounded like 'dirty boy,' he frowned and rounded the end of the truck.  He stared down the long space, the sight of rough, dirty hands tangled in the strands of Sam's hair leaving him breathless in all the wrong ways.  Dean closed his eyes against the sight, then steeled himself to make a scene.  "Take your fucking hands off him!  Sammy, get to your feet and get into the fucking car!  Now!"

The trucker started, nearly choking Sam, but Sam handled the hard movement and continued to suck.  He saw no reason why Dean should interfere in his sex life, especially since Dean picked up a new fuck buddy every night.  But the trucker yanked away and began to scramble back into his pants, obviously unwilling to face down an angry man with his cock hanging out.  Sam sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing a little. 

"Sam.  Get.  In.  The.  Car."  Dean glowered at him, still on his knees and not remotely looking like he was planning on moving any time soon.  Shifting his glare to the man trying to tuck himself in his pants, Dean clenched his fists and advanced toward them.

Sam surged to his feet in a smooth motion and stepped in front of Dean.  "You've really got no right to interfere, Dean," he said without expression or inflection.  "You pushed me away, so any claim you might have had to getting pissed off is pretty much gone.  And I'm not some little kid who doesn't know what he's doing, so don't pull that brother crap, either.  He wasn't hurting me.  He asked, and I said yes."  He shifted a little, a cold smile creeping across his face.  "Besides, I'm only upholding the family tradition, following in your footsteps." 

Dean grabbed Sam and pushed him to the side, glaring at his brother.  "I don't give a shit how grown up you think you are.  You're sixteen, still a minor, and that means you don't go around fucking or getting fucked by adults.  Got it?"  He shook his head, his eyes flowing between sad and angry.  "If I thought you were acting like an adult, Sam, I wouldn't have to chase you around, stop you from doing this shit.  But you're acting like a spoiled brat, so you're going to get treated like one."  Turning back to the trucker with a scathing glare, he said, "You might want to be more careful who you pick up; sixteen year olds can get you in a heap of trouble."  He started to drag Sam back toward the car.

Forgetting the trucker completely, Sam dug in his heels, dragging back on Dean with every step.  He still didn't have Dean's muscle mass, but his added height and weight did make him a difficult object to haul.  "A spoiled brat, huh?  Because I wanted something for myself other than the chance to get ripped apart by monsters, fucked by strangers and live in crappy motel rooms.  Well, now I don't give a shit anymore, so I don't see how that makes me spoiled."   

"Jesus fucking christ, Sam."  Dean grabbed him with both arms, wrestling until he had his brother pinned to the side of the truck.  "There are a number of reasons that I said no, not the least of which are that you are sixteen and my brother.  But you couldn't accept that, could you?  No, you had to sabotage your life,

Sammy- throw everything away, destroy it all because I told you 'no' for the first time in your life.  So, yeah, that makes you a spoiled brat."  Staring into his brother's face, Dean knew that it was all his fault, that if he'd only stayed strong, Sam wouldn't be this way.  He dropped his grip on Sam and sighed.

"You're all I have... all I had, Dean," Sam said quietly, trying to force himself to stay strong.  "I'm not daddy's little soldier, like you are.  I can't be that... it's not who I am.  And it makes him love me less, even if he doesn't want or mean to.  For one moment, you gave me what I want most, the only time I've ever had anything completely... and then you took it away.  Whatever your reasons, you left me nothing but the little scraps I've tried to live off all my life.  And they're not enough anymore.  No more happy fairy tales, yeah?  It's better to care about nothing than spend all your time miserable."  His lower lip trembled, though he schooled his features with every bit of his formidable will.  "I mean, really, what do you see me getting out of life?"

"God, Sammy, I'm sorry I hurt you."  Dean hung his head, hands thrust into his pockets and heard the trucker moving around uneasily behind them.  Lifting his head, Dean glared at the other man and then looked back at Sam.  "Can we at least talk more in the car?  Not here..."

Sam glanced back at the trucker and felt a little sorry for the other man, a victim of his own libido and Sam's complete apathy.  That emotion, along with Dean's visible hurt, pierced some of the armor around Sam's heart.  But he didn't know what there was left to say.  "Yeah, okay."    

Dean turned and led Sam back to the Impala, hands still shoved into his pockets and head hanging low, almost between his shoulders.  Once he was settled in the driver's seat, Dean waited for Sam to join him.

Sam settled into the passenger seat and wordlessly picked up the paper bag of food.  He dug out a burger, set it in front of Dean and then dug out another for himself.  Taking a bite, he asked, "Is there something else you want to know, Dean?"

"Why are you throwing everything else away, Sammy?  Why don't you want to study anymore?"  Dean wanted to ask why Sam cared about him so much, but didn't think it was an answer he was ready to hear. 

"When I'm done with high school, Dean, what do you picture me doing?" Sam asked, forcing down another bite of his burger. 

Dean sighed.  "I kinda figured you'd go off and do something, Sam.  I have no idea what, but I know you're not happy with this life.  You never have been."  It saddened Dean, tore him up that his brother was so unhappy in the life that made Dean happy.

Sam straightened up and looked at Dean, mouth slightly open.  "You expected me to leave?" he asked.  "What about dad?  You think he's envisioning me just taking off?"

"No, but you've never done one thing he's ever wanted, Sam.  I didn't expect you to start when you hit eighteen."  Dean shrugged and scrubbed at his face, before grabbing the other burger and forcing himself to eat.

Hurt by the words, Sam slumped back against the seat, burger forgotten.  "I've always done what he wanted," he spat.  "Maybe not with a happy face and a 'yes, Sir' the way you do, but everything has always been his way."   He stared out the passenger window, hurting again and hating himself for letting Dean pull down the walls he'd been so carefully constructing.

Dean sighed.  "That's what I meant, Sam.  You've never _just_ done what he wanted.  It's always been a battle between the two of you."  Leaning his head on the side window, Dean closed his eyes.  "I've never wanted you to go, but I've also always known that you were probably going to bail out as soon as you could.  I just never expected you to do it early or in a way that hurt you."

"Then let me go now, Dean.  Cut me loose with social services, so you can never find me again.  Forget I exist and just hunt the way you and dad want.  I'll make my own way, without having to worry about disappointing you and dad or having to choose between school and hunting.  No more fights.  No more babysitting.  You wouldn't have to feel like you were going to do something you might regret with me. Fuck, it would be awesome for you both.  "  Sam gripped the seatbelt tight between his fingers.

"I don't want to let you go, Sammy.  Not now, not ever.  Fuck... you only hear what you want."  Dean turned on the car and slammed it into gear before pulling onto the road.  He wasn't going to give Sam the option of running away from this.  "I never said I wanted you to leave, I just said that I'd come to terms with the fact that you likely would.  Besides, do you really think either Dad or I would be okay with you just out there somewhere?  Because if you do, then you don't know either of us as well as you think you do."

Sam gritted his teeth as his head banged against the door and then carefully buckled his seatbelt.  Stalemate.  Dean didn't want him to go, but he wouldn't let him close, either.  "Are you happy now?" he asked, watching the scenery rip by in an unpleasant blur.

"No, Sam, I haven't been happy in a long, fucking time, but no one seems to notice or give a shit."  Dean bit his lower lip after he lashed out, cursing himself for opening his mouth, but knowing he spoke only the truth.  He slowed the car slightly, getting them back at the speed limit and trying not to take his frustrations out on the Impala.

Sam turned slowly toward Dean, straightening in his seat and looking intently at him.  "Why not?" he asked.

"Because you haven't really spoken to me or so much as looked at me in nearly two months, Sam."  Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road.  "Because you were the one person in my life who was actually my friend, and you haven't been that in awhile now."  What Sam hadn't realized, and Dean simmered about that, was his misery had permeated every part of Dean because Sam had pulled completely away from his brother.

Sam nodded and looked away from Dean again.  "It hurts too much to be around you, Dean.  There's no more joy in it."  He shrugged and leaned back in his seat again.  "Were you happy before that?"

"Before that?  Yeah, I was."  Dean's response was soft, almost despairing. If what Sam said was true, then Dean would never be happy again.

"I'm glad," Sam said.  "I haven't been happy since I hit puberty and began to think for myself.  Sure, there were good times, mostly with you, but nothing that lasted."  He rubbed his legs in a reflexive response to stress.  "That's why I've just given up.  I fooled myself into thinking I would be happy... with you.  And I fell too far and too hard from that hope." 

"Please don't destroy your life because of me, Sam.  It's not worth it."  Dean took the turn for the Interstate, easing them into the flow of the afternoon traffic. 

Sam reached out and brushed his fingers over Dean's right leg gently.  "That's where you're wrong, Dean.  You've always been worth it."  And he didn't say another word the rest of the day.  
~~~~~~~~~~

Sam walked quietly behind his father and brother, carrying a shotgun loosely in his hands.  The dark pressed around them, only the rattle of a few tree branches and the occasional cry of a night animal to disturb the night.  The ominous atmosphere suited Sam's mood just fine.  
   
Since his heartfelt discussion with Dean two days earlier, Sam had been doing a lot of thinking and very little talking.  He followed his father's orders without comment, not even the 'yes, Sir,' 'no, Sir' that Dean always gave.  They sparred and practiced every night, but Sam's mind was conspicuous by its absence.  
   
He couldn't go on hurting Dean.  He loved him too much for that.  And it really did make him a spoiled brat, if he hurt Dean because he wasn't getting what he wanted.  In his heart, he knew Dean was just trying to do what was best for him, even if Sam didn't agree with it. He resolved to try and act a little more normally with him, and put a bit more effort into school, too, if only to keep Dean and dad off his back. But he longed to be somewhere else, someone else. Or not there at all.      
       
Dean followed behind Sam, taking in what he could of the deep dark around them.  John led the way, the polished movements of his body a testament to his marine training.  Dean often felt clumsy and awkward next to his father, but it only pushed him to work harder and do better.  Sam, on the other hand, had never engaged in their hunts, until now.  This time he was actually doing what was asked and doing a better job of it than ever before.  But Dean could see that his heart wasn't in it and that tugged at him. 

Sam stopped as John lifted his hand and indicated they were going to split up.  He moved to the right, as directed, and headed deeper into the trees, now alone.  Blowing out a long breath, and watching the mist trail out in front of him, he wondered again what he would do with his life.  Nothing seemed to beckon him at all-  
   
And that's when the harpy swooped down from the sky and slashed him right across the face.

Following his father's orders, Dean peeled off left from the group, taking one last look at Sam before doing so.  He angled through the trees, eyes scanning the dark night sky when a horrendous screech split the silence- coming from the direction Sam had disappeared in.  Dean spun on the spot and started off a fast clip to catch up to Sam.

Sam staggered back from the blow, blood gushing from his temple and blinding him in the left eye.  He raised the shotgun and took off a chunk of the harpy's right leg with a blast.  She shrieked again, the noise loud and violent, and veered toward him.  Her wings directed her at falcon speed, and she slammed him to the ground, gashing open his front from nipple to bellybutton.

Dean rounded the tree in time to see Sam get split open.  He lifted his gun without thought and fired at the harpy, aiming for as much damage as possible.  "Sammy!" he screamed, wanting and needing to hear something from his brother.

Sam heaved for breath in shallow pants, his body a mass of agony.  He dimly heard Dean's scream, the shot and the harpy's answering shrieks.  Another piece of the birdwoman blew away, in a staggering mess of blood and feathers, but she wheeled again, seemingly determined to take Sam with her.  And as she streaked toward him, her one remaining talon open, claws gleaming, he released his hold on the shotgun, relaxed back and shut his eyes. 

"Sammy!"  Dean charged toward Sam and the harpy, shotgun lifted for another shot at her, but he knew he'd hit Sam.  Instead, Dean dropped the gun and launched himself at the harpy, knocking her off course.

John raced into the glade in time to see his eldest tackle a six-foot harpy to the ground, her wings beating at him.  His youngest lay nearby, blood pooling around him.  But the elder Winchester did not pause.  He drew his knife and barreled toward Dean and the struggling harpy.  Grabbing her thrashing body, he yanked back her throat and slit her neck, spattering them both with blood.

Dean lay panting on the ground, covered in blood and gore.  He took a couple of beats, trying to regulate his breathing, before he climbed out from under the harpy and went to check on Sam.  Sitting next to his brother, Dean ran his hand gently over Sam's side and then shook his head.  "He looks bad."

John gritted his teeth and muttered, "Damn fool kid, what the Hell was he thinking, taking her on alone?"  His hands trembled a little as he assessed Sam's wounds, however.  "Call an ambulance, Dean.  We're not moving him."  He began to work to stop the bleeding, focusing intently on his training to keep under control.  "I'll move the harpy now and then burn her remains after they pick the two of you up.  You remember our cover story for this?"

Dialing his cell, Dean hoped the ambulance would make it in time.  He'd watched Sam, seen the split second his brother decided not to fight for his life, and the knowledge twisted through Dean's gut like a knife.  He'd laid his brother so low that Sam was willing to just lay down and die.  After giving the dispatch the pertinent details, Dean hung up the phone and crouched next to Sam.  "He gave up Dad, just laid down and was going to let the harpy kill him.  Still think this is just a teenage thing?"  Dean couldn't help the bitter anger that crept into his voice at the thought of losing Sam.

John frowned, insides gnawing on themselves, as he worked on his pale son.  "I don't understand," he said quietly.  "I know this life is hard on him, always has been.  But he's always had so much spirit.  What's changed to make him so despondent now?"  //What did I miss?// he didn't say.  
   
Dean bit the inside of his lip and turned his head away.  There was no way that Dean could tell John what happened.  "Sam's given up, Dad."  The sound of the ambulance approaching sent a wave of relief through Dean. 

John looked up as the siren approached rapidly.  "Help me get this thing out of site, Dean."  He grabbed Sam's shotgun and one part of the Harpy, moving to drag her out of view.  "Remember, you and he were out here goofing off, you heard him scream and found him like this.  There's been a rash of these attacks out here, so nobody will disbelieve you, as long as we clean up well." 

"Yes, Sir.  Sammy and I were fooling around."  Dean grabbed some other pieces of the harpy and sent them flying into the woods, not willing to leave Sam for long. 

John hauled the body out of sight and covered it quickly, making sure the police wouldn't find the remains.  He took Dean's weapons and said, "Take care of Sammy," before disappearing back into the woods. 

Dean sighed, crouching next to his brother.  "Yes, Sir," He breathed the words out and stroked his brother's hair back from his face, tears streaming down his cheeks for the brother who was ready to die. 

Sam's eyes fluttered open on a groan, and he blinked a few times to bring the person above him in focus.  He could dimly make out the sound of sirens nearing them, but his focus landed on the wet leaking from Dean's eyes.  "Dean?" he murmured. 

"Sammy," Dean breathed out, stroking the hair back from his face and holding his hand tightly.  "Help's coming.  They're going to take care of you." 

Sam tried to breathe deeply, but his side burned like fire, so he settled on shallow pants.  "What- what happened?" 

"The harpy attacked you while we were out here fooling around."  Dean hoped that Sam could get the subtle shift of the story.. 

The ambulance pulled up with a screech of brakes, and people were hopping out, running toward the two brothers.  Sam managed a weak smile at Dean and mumbled, "Fooling around's gonna get me killed," before the paramedics were there, pushing Dean out of the way and working on the mess that was Sam.   
~~~~~~~~~~ 

 

Sam woke up and blinked slowly at the bright, sterile room.  His mind felt muzzy, a sea of pea soup and clouds, and he tried to remember what was going on.  Moving his head, he saw Dean sitting in a cheap, plastic chair and looking like the world had ended.  "Hey," he tried to say, but all that emerged was a sick croak. 

Dean turned his head to Sam immediately, reaching out to touch him and then dropping his hands by his side.  "Sammy, thank god."  His breath came shaky and soft, Dean's shoulders convulsing slightly, while he worked to hold on to the sob that threatened to escape.   

Sam blinked dopily at Dean, trying to fathom what was so wrong.  He was in the hospital, so yeah, that was bad, but not exactly unusual.  "Water?" he asked, knowing he needed some to talk more clearly. 

"Anything, Sammy."  Dean lifted Sam against his chest and then held the straw to Sam's lips so he could get the water he wanted. 

Sam sipped at the water, enjoying the cool down the back of his parched throat.  He finally released the straw with a little sigh and shut his eyes for a moment, pulling together some strength.  "I fucked up bad, huh?" he said, voice still weak. 

Dean choked on a combination laugh and sob.  He stroked Sam's hair and put the water on the table before he pulled his brother against him.  "We almost lost you, Sammy." 

Sam sighed and allowed himself to snuggle against Dean, unable to resist the comfort.  "'M sorry, Dean."  He fisted one hand in Dean's shirt.  "Didja get the... harpy?" 

"Yeah, we killed her before the ambulance came.  Dad burned her remains, while I rode with you to the hospital."  Dean rocked Sam against him, stroking his hair and holding him close.  Tears slid down his face and into Sam's hair, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. 

Sam untangled his hand from Dean's shirt and touched the tears on his right cheek, staring at them like they were completely foreign.  "'M all right, De.  Why're you crying?" 

"We almost lost you."  Dean rocked Sam tightly and then settled him back on the bed, hand tangling with Sam's and holding it tight.  "It took them three tries to stabilize you." 

"Oh."  Sam tried to process that, but it was way too much for his overtired and foggy brain.  "Sorry?" 

Dean stroked Sam's hair until his brother's eyes slid shut.  "S'okay, Sam.  You're alive; you're here.  That's all that matters, Sammy." 

Sam sighed and fluttered open his eyes again.  "You all right?  Dad?" 

"We're both fine, Sam.  Barely touched by the harpy."  Dean stroked Sam's hair back from his face again and did his best to smile at his brother.   

"No more chick flick?" Sam asked, trying to lighten the mood and stop Dean's tears.  Something nagged at the back of his mind, something important and huge, but just out of reach. 

Choking on a sob, Dean nodded.  "No more chick flick, Sam."  Dean stroked Sam's hair again, hand rubbing again and again over Sam's head.  He needed the touch, needed to know that Sam was going to be okay. 

Sam pushed up a little, loving how easy and affectionate Dean was being right then.  And that's when it hit him.  He gasped and jerked away from Dean, eyes huge and full of guilt and shame and sorrow.  "'M so sorry, Dean.  I didn't mean it," he   
stammered.  "Just hurt so much, and I thought- I won't- won't do it again.  Promise." 

"Shhhh, Sammy."  Dean stroked Sam's hair and then lifted him up into his arms again.  He couldn't bear to see Sam in distress.  "S'okay, now.  You're okay now, Sammy." 

Sam pressed his head to Dean's neck and grabbed his shirt, pulling him close and holding on for dear life.  "I won't- won't act like that anymore, De. 'S not your fault I'm twisted up all wrong inside." 

Dean rested his head on top of Sam's and held him close.  "Shhh, Sam.  I just want you to be happy, Sammy.  Just want you to be happy."   

Sam felt his stomach drop out to the floor and swallowed hard.  "Yeah, De.  I know.  I'll try."  He allowed himself a few more moments of closeness, just a few more and then pulled away.  He had to go back to being the little brother, the one who liked school and uh- school and didn't fantasize about his older brother. 

Dean let Sam go when his brother pulled away.  He stroked over Sam's head again and then sat back and clasped his hands together on his lap.  "The doctor said you should be good to go home in a couple of days.  I convinced Dad to take us to Pastor Jim's for you to recover."

Sam smiled a little for Dean.  "He's going to leave us for awhile, Dean?" 

"Yeah, he's going to leave us with Jim for awhile.  At least until you recover and maybe until the end of the school year."  Dean smiled at Sam, his hands itching to stroke through his brother's hair again. 

"You don't have to stay, Dean," Sam said, forcing the words out of his tight throat.  "I know you'll want to be out there hunting with dad.  I don't want you to miss that." 

Dean shook his head.  "I'm not leaving you, Sam."  He smiled softly.  "If Jim has local jobs I can do, then fine... otherwise, I'm not taking off." 

Sam smiled more naturally at Dean this time, even though the thought of spending all that time with him at Pastor Jim's alone was painful.  "I'll do better in school, Dean." 

"I know you will, Sam."  Dean couldn't help reaching out to stroke Sam's hair back from his eyes.  "I know you will.  And I'll be there to see every improvement." 

Sam pressed into the gentle hand without thought, then widened his eyes and pulled back again.  His wounds tugged at the sudden flinch, and he hissed a little.  "What about dad?" 

"What about dad?"  Dean asked, hand reaching out again to stroke Sam's hair.   
Dean lavished him with such easy affection, and Sam's heart wept for more, for the love Dean had shown him the one time before everything went bad.  But this time, he didn't pull away, since Dean seemed to need the reassurance that Sam was all right.  "He mad at you for wanting to stay?  Or at me?" 

"No," Dean answered right away.  "No, Sammy.  Dad's not mad."  The fact was that John was scared.  He was scared that he'd not seen what was wrong with Sam until it was too late and scared that Dean wasn't holding it together in the face of his brother's troubles. 

Sam frowned a little at Dean's answer.  His father was never not mad at him, especially not when he interfered with hunting.  "'M sorry for causing you such trouble, De," he said, figuring his brother must have taken the brunt of John's anger. 

Shaking his head, Dean smiled at Sam.  "It's no trouble, Sam.  I promise, Dad's not mad.  Not at you, not at me.  With the harpy successfully killed, we're moving on to Jim's and then Dad'll be back in a couple of months." 

Sam nodded, feeling small and worthless.  "Not just sorry for that, Dean.  Sorry for everything.  Acting like a brat.  Refusing to let go.  Nearly getting myself killed.  I shouldn't have done that to you... and dad." 

"You're alive, Sammy.  That's all that matters to me."  Dean smiled at his brother, love and affection shining in his eyes and mixing with the worry that still settled in his heart.   

Sam nodded and then turned his head away for a moment to hide tears caused by the gaze.  He forced them back, before allowing himself to look at Dean again.  "What will you do at Jim's?" he asked, just to have something to say. 

"Get a job, help Jim out however he needs."  Dean shrugged, not really concerned with any details that didn't directly relate to Sam.  "We'll see what is needed when we get there."

"We?" Sam asked in a small voice.  "You want me to help you with stuff?"  He forced himself to smile at Dean.  "Aren't you going to miss going out and hunting?" 

"Maybe a little, but not enough to make me leave you behind, Sammy."  Dean reached out and stroked over Sam's forehead again.  He was truly grateful that Sam had survived the harpy attack and seemed to want to be better. 

"Dean," Sam whispered, feeling pinpricks in the back of his eyes as his brother stroked his skin.  "Please, Dean, I don't think I can be all right if you keep being so nice to me." 

Dean sighed and nodded, tears shining in his eyes, too.  He drew his hand away and sat back from the bed, looking down where he clasped them between his legs.  "I don't have to go to Jim's with you, if you don't want me to, Sam.  It's meant for you to be happy." 

Sam heaved a soft sob and reached for Dean's hand, unable to help himself.  "I still want what we had that once, Dean.  I'm sorry.  I'll try not to anymore, but you can't be so nice." 

Nodding, Dean took Sam's hand in his and simply held it tight.  He knew what Sam wanted, but Dean couldn't allow them to have it.  His mind was still twisted around the wrongness of being with his brother.   

Sam took what comfort he could from Dean's grip and asked, "What are we going to do, De?   I don't want to feel like this anymore." 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times and then shrugged.  "We'll figure something out, Sammy.  I don't know what, but something."  He briefly stroked his thumb over the back of Sam's hand, but did his best to not be too affectionate.  The last thing he wanted was to hurt his brother. "For now, you need to rest again... the doctor won't let you out until tomorrow at the earliest." 

"Okay, De," Sam said softly, pulling his hand away and closing his eyes.  He felt grateful to the drugs and weariness taking him back to sleep, away from the pains of reality.  
 ~~~~~~~~~~

Sam sat outside on the porch steps, backpack between his feet, and stared blankly into space.  He had aced his math test, polished off his homework and faced a long weekend with nothing to do.  He decided to spend it with Dean, but needed to figure out what to do with him that wasn't going to hurt either of them too much.  

  Dean sat at the kitchen table with Pastor Jim, attention split between his dad's friend and Sam sitting outside.  Sam had been doing better, getting good grades again, sharing things with Dean, but there was a distance between them that saddened Dean. Sam was pulling away for keeps.  He looked at Jim and sighed.  "Thanks for letting us stay here; I think it's done Sam a world of good."  

Jim looked out at Sam with a sad smile and said, "He's a good kid, but sadder than I remember him ever being.  I'm glad to give you both a place to stay, Dean.  Perhaps Sam should stay on a more permanent basis."

"If Sam wanted to, I would certainly talk with Dad about it."  Dean scrubbed at his face.  "I want Sam to be happy, and he seems to be doing better here." 

Jim watched as Sam got up and started to come inside.  "Talk to Sam about it, Dean.  And tell me what he says." He headed back into the church. 

Sam walked inside, set his backpack down and smiled a little at Dean.  "Hey, Dean."  He opened the fridge, grabbed some milk and poured himself a glass.  "Got an A on my math test." 

Dean grinned at Sam.  "That's awesome, Sammy.  Second in a row, right?"  He wanted to reach out and pull Sam in for a hug, a slap on the back and a ruffle to his unruly hair, but Dean was working hard to respect Sam's need for distance. 

Sam snorted and asked, "Want some cookies?  I made some last night."  He felt a little silly admitting to having baked cookies, but he was trying anything to keep occupied.  And nothing made days a little easier than some freshly baked cookies. 

"Sure."  Dean smiled again and got up to get himself a glass of milk to go with the cookies.  The strain in their relationship was taking a toll on Dean. 

"I could have gotten you that," Sam said, setting a tin of a variety of cookies by Dean.   

Dean smiled softly.  "You were already getting the cookies."  He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair slightly, before carrying his milk to the table and sitting in his seat again.  "Anything you want to do this weekend?" 

Sam flinched away from the touch and pushed down his instinctive positive response. "Can we go to the park and play some ball?" he asked.  "Or maybe we can give the Impala a wash and wax?  She deserves it, just having to sit around all this time." 

Nodding, Dean bit into a cookie with a quiet moan.  He washed it down with some milk.  "Yeah, why don't we play ball tonight and wash the Impala tomorrow?  The weather's supposed to be good, and I'm off work until Monday." 

Sam asked, "Your job going all right?" 

"Yeah, it's good.  Never thought I'd like construction, but with only the one auto shop in town, there wasn't much choice."  Dean shrugged and finished off his first cookie. 

Sam swayed a little toward Dean, wishing he could kiss him and share the taste of cookies and milk and Dean.  But he snapped out of it and stepped back with a slight flush.  "I'm glad you like it," he said softly.   

"I like that it gives us a lot of time to goof off together, Sammy."  Dean smiled and snatched another cookie, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth in an effort to get Sam to laugh. 

Sam smiled a little for Dean, shook his head and took another cookie for himself.  "I can make dinner tonight, if you want." 

Dean grinned at Sam and nodded.  "I'd like that.  You've gotten to be a good cook, Sammy." 

"It's a useful thing to know," Sam said, not adding that it passed the time.  "And I have to try to get you to eat healthy somehow." 

"I still don't know where you get the eating healthy thing, but at least the food you make is awesome, Sammy."  Dean drank down most of his milk and then wiped the mustache off with the back of his hand. 

Sam smiled a little more brightly at Dean's manners and shook his head again.  He turned to shut the tin of cookies and said, "Just want to make sure you live forever, De."  He picked up his pack again.  "Should I grab our gloves and stuff?"  

Dean nodded and finished his milk.  "Yeah, go ahead, and I'll just change and meet you out front in ten."  He pushed back from the table, grabbed both of their glasses and brought them to the sink.

Sam nodded and went upstairs to change and grab their gear. In ten minutes, he trotted down the stairs, carrying two gloves and a ball, and headed outside to meet Dean, who was already waiting for him.  "I got asked out today," he said and then wondered why he brought that up. 

"You did?"  Dean rolled his shoulders and tilted his head at Sam.  "Anyone you're interested in?"  It didn't surprise him that Sam could be popular, much as he might tease his brother about being a dork. 

"She's really nice," Sam said, tossing Dean his mitt.  "Her name's Laura, and she's in my AP history class." 

Dean caught the mitt, slid it on and punched the palm a few times before flexing it.  "Yeah?  She's smart then." 

"I think you'd find her pretty," Sam said, starting to head to the fields.    
"Blonde.  Blue eyes.  Kinda tall." 

Following Sam down the walkway, Dean shook his head in amusement.  "So a smart hottie, then, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I guess," Sam said.  "I told her no."  He tossed the ball in the air and caught it easily.  "She's nice, but I didn't think it would be fair to her."

"Because of me."  Sam was ruined because of him, because he'd lost control and let them taste the one thing they never should have had with each other.  And no matter what Dean did to make it better, he couldn't, not really.

Sam turned toward Dean, eyes wide and soft.  "Yes, because of you, but not just because of that, Dean.  I've never been interested in anyone.  Even before.  So, it's not your fault."  He wanted to touch Dean and reassure him, but he couldn't do that anymore. 

Dean nodded, but didn't believe really Sam.  It was true that Sam never dated, but his brother was shy around girls... always had been... and with their travels, Sam hadn't had a chance at being around long enough to really try with anyone.  "I wish..." Dean trailed off and shook his head.  "You sure you don't want to go on a date with her, Sammy?  You can take the Impala after we get her all nice and cleaned up."

Sam shook his head, but smiled at the idea of borrowing the Impala.  "Thanks, Dean, but I wouldn't want to take a chance with your baby, anyway."  He clenched his hand tight inside his glove, where Dean couldn't see, and forced himself to say, "You should go out, though, Dean.  And when dad comes back, you should go with him."

"We'll see, Sam.  Dad may not want me back on the road with him."  Dean wasn't going to address the topic of going out.  "Do you really want me to leave, Sam?"

"No," Sam said in a small voice.  He squared his shoulders, stood tall, and continued in a stronger voice, "But you shouldn't let me stop you, Dean.  It's not your fault, and you shouldn't suffer because of it.  Go out and have fun.  Go back hunting.  I promise not hurt myself again.  I do."

Dean nodded.  "I believe you, Sam.  But let's cross that bridge when Dad shows up again, okay?"  He nudged Sam through the entrance to the park and toward the spot they used to play catch.  It reminded Dean a lot of his early teens when they had uncomplicated fun together.  "You wanna run out, or me?"

Sam tossed Dean the ball and trotted out into the field on the opposite side of Dean.  He stopped and waited for Dean to throw him the ball.  "I was thinking of trying out for track," he said, needing to change the subject.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, throwing the ball to Sam.  The first few were always a bit gentler, a bit lighter while he got used to the motion again.  "You've been doing a lot of running lately."

"It helps me forget," Sam said, throwing the ball back.  "Helps me keep sane," he added in a tone only he could hear.  "These long legs have to be useful for something," he said in a louder tone, trying to lighten things.

Dean laughed.  "Getting longer all the time, Sammy."  He threw the ball again, with a bit more direction and a bit more strength, though they generally kept the games fun and relaxed.  "I think it'd be good for you.  Bet you'll have fun." 

Sam caught the ball and threw it back, still warming up his arm with easier tosses.  "Maybe help me get some coordination, too," he said. 

"Keep the feet in line with the rest of your body.  Speaking of... how're your sneakers holding up?  I imagine your feet must be growing like the rest of you."  Dean laughed, shaking his head at Sam's growth spurts.

Sam glanced down at his old, ratty shoes and said, "I'd need track shoes."  He frowned a little and looked up at Dean.  "Can we afford those?  I can work and make the money up."

Dean shook his head.  "I'm making plenty of money right now, Sammy.  We'll go get you some shoes this weekend, okay?"  Dean smiled at his brother, tossing the ball back and rolling his head on his shoulders.  Anything he could do to give Sam something, he was happy to do.

Sam dimpled for Dean, feeling warm that his brother still cared for him, even if not the way he wanted.  "Thanks.  I'll probably need a uniform of some sort, too.  Nothing much, just some shorts and a shirt, probably."

"We can get you whatever you need, Sam.  Really... anything at all."  Dean returned Sam's smile, catching the ball as it came toward him before tossing it in the air in front of him and then lobbing it at Sam once he'd caught it again.

Sam threw harder the next time, letting the ball whizz from his hand.  "Dean, the school counselor wants me to take some AP tests this year.  She says my grades are better than good enough and that they'll help me with some college courses." 

Dean nodded, another smile lighting his face.  For as much shit as he gave Sam about his grades, Dean was damn proud of his brother.  "Yeah, okay... sounds like a good idea."  The thought of Sam leaving for college twisted Dean up inside, but he knew that Sam wasn't going to stick around forever.  He just hoped that Sam could see how important that future was again.

"They're expensive, De," Sam said, reverting back to his brother's nickname.    
"Especially since I need to take the SATs this year, too."  He ducked his head, feeling guilty about spending his brother's money on these things.  "I was thinking I should get a job or something to cover them."

Shaking his head, Dean said, "No way, Sammy.  We'll figure it out, but I want you to have the chance to do your best and studying is the best way to do that."  As much as Dean didn't want Sam to leave him, Dean was determined to help Sam have the life he wanted.

Sam scuffed his toe in the dirt and said, "My counselor gave me some college information, too, even though I'm not scheduled to sign up for anything until next year.  I think she was worried because I've moved so much that I might not have another chance to get information."

Dean grimaced and kicked at the ground, too.  He'd never been as smart as Sam, never wanted to be- had no interest in college at all.  But he felt bad that Sam didn't think he should even bother trying.  "Well, let's take a look at it all and see what you need to do.  Okay?" 

Sam nodded and threw the ball back to Dean, satisfied with the smacking sound it made in Dean's mitt.  "There's no rush, De.  I still have a full year.  I need to save some money for college applications... if I do any."

"Whatever you want, Sammy.  You know that, right?  If I can give it to you, I will."  Dean knew that it was hard for Sam to trust or believe in him, after everything that happened, but Dean willingly would court John's anger to put Sam first. 

"I don't know what I want," Sam said, catching the ball as Dean threw it to him. 

"But there's no harm in looking at all my options, huh?"  He paused and added, "I was looking at joining the army or something, too."

Dean blinked, arms dropping to his side in shock at Sam talking about the army.  Then he snorted.  "Well, that'd be a surefire way to get Dad's attention.  I mean, I'm sure he'd be pleased that you'd consider that."  Raising his arms, Dean waited for Sam to throw the ball back.

Sam chuckled and threw the ball back.  "Yeah.  I don't think I could actually do it.  I'm not very good at taking orders, am I?  I ask too many questions.  Never know when to keep my mouth shut."

"It's cause you think so much, Sammy.  There's a lot going on in your brain, and you never have just been able to take orders, no."  Catching the ball, Dean twisted it once and then tossed it back. 

Sam jumped up a little to catch the throw and fired it back at Dean.  "I wish I could be more like you, De.  Not fight with dad all the time about everything.  Make him proud."

Dean couldn't think of a response.  He and Sam were such different people, and Dean chafed less under their father's rule.  Not that he didn't balk at things from time-to-time, but Dean didn't mind taking orders and he _loved_ hunting.  "We're just different, Sam.  Sometimes I wish I'd been more like you, cared more about school... or something else."

"No you don't," Sam said.  "It's one of the things I've always admired most about you... how comfortable you are just being yourself.  Not longing for anything more than you have."  He looked into the distance, watching a group of kids playing, and wished he could be one of them. 

"Well, I can help you have what you want, Sammy," Dean said. 

Sam laughed without humor at Dean's words and shook his head.  "Apparently, you can't."  He waved his mitt, asking for Dean to throw him the ball. 

Dean sighed and tossed the ball back to Sam.  "I can help you get into college, Sam, and that's something you've always wanted.  You said yourself that you never saw yourself sticking to this life." 

Sam caught the ball and tossed it back in one fluid motion.  He opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again, knowing it was fruitless to rehash their arguments. 

Dean didn't want him or didn't think it was right or whatever.  Nothing Sam said or did would change that.  He rubbed at the healing area of scars on his side.  "Well... thanks," he finally said. 

Dean nodded, short and jerky, after he threw the ball back to Sam.  He was still trying to figure his way around Sam and what Sam wanted from him - besides the one obvious thing he couldn't give Sam. 

Sam played catch with Dean for awhile longer in silence, before he said, "I guess we should go in, so I can see what to make for dinner."  He tucked his glove under his arm, trotted toward his brother and kept his eyes on the ground. 

Tossing the ball in one hand, Dean nodded and then caught it so he could take off his mitt.  He wanted to wrap his arm around Sam's neck, drag him along, maybe give him a noogie, but touching was off limits, so he settled for tapping his mitt on Sam's shoulder.  "You sure you don't want to take Laura out this weekend?" 

Sam shrugged off the touch, frowned at Dean and countered, "Why don't you just go out yourself?"  He turned his back firmly on Dean and trotted away, using his long legs to good effect. 

Dean watched Sam leave him behind and heaved a sigh.  He'd managed to make Sam angry again, an easy enough thing these days, but especially for Dean.  He followed slowly, hoping against hope that some day Sam would forgive him for saying no.   
~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. After Stanford

Five years later, Sam jerked awake inside the Impala, heart pounding as the image of Jess pulling him into her grave slowly faded from his mind.  He rubbed his eyes and shoved himself against the door, huddling as much as a six foot five man could inside a cramped front seat.  He felt Dean's gaze on him and refrained from snapping at him to keep his eyes on the road with difficulty.  "I'm fine," he said instead, hoping to stave off the question. 

Dean arched an eyebrow at Sam, opened his mouth to say something and then simply nodded and turned back to the road.  He thrummed at the steering wheel, the music flowing over him.  "You sure?" 

Sam scrunched his face as if he'd just sucked on the world's sourest lemon and leaned his head against the window.  "You really think we'll find John at the coordinates he left you?" 

"No idea, Sam.  I'd like to think so; he gave them to us for a reason."  Dean sighed internally at Sam calling their dad by his name, but knew that the breach in their family wouldn't be mended overnight.  He was already glad to have Sam in the Impala with him, to see what his brother had grown into, and was loathe to do anything that might upset him or send him running. 

Sam tried to stretch in the car and scowled when he succeeded only in knocking his knee against the glove compartment.  "Stop at the next rest area, would you?" he asked, wanting a chance to untangle his limbs.  He cursed the four extra inches that had turned most cars from a comfortable, if tight, fit to agony. 

Dean nodded, thumbed over his lower lip and blew out a soft breath.  "Yeah, of course, Sam.  Keep your eyes open for another place, in case a rest stop doesn't come up quickly."  He beat his thumbs on the steering wheel again and bobbed his head.   

"I can't believe you still listen to this stuff," Sam grumbled, as Dean beat in time with the pounding music.  He'd deliberately avoided all of Dean's favorite groups for the last four years and had intended to do so for the rest of his life.   

"Dude, they're classics."  Dean shook his head at Sam's disrespect for the best music ever.  "You never could appreciate them."   

"Maybe if I hadn't had to listen to them continuously for seventeen years, I might have retained some sort of stomach for them," Sam snapped and then heaved out a long, hard breath.  "Just stop here." 

Dean sighed, scrubbed at his face and then pulled the Impala over where they were on the road.  "Some things never change, do they Sam?"  He shoved the car into park and turned to look out his window. 

Sam got out of the Impala in a smooth, fast motion and took off at a sprint, right along the road.  His legs and arms worked like pistons, pushing him fast and hard over the rough asphalt.  He didn't look back to see if Dean would follow him, not really caring.  He needed the wind in his face, the ground beneath his feet and his muscles straining with all their might.  Maybe then he could blot out for a few moments Jess' face as she clung to the ceiling, dripping blood and fire down on him.  Blot out the reality that he was stuck again with Dean and hunting- the long, endless life that led nowhere. 

Keeping his head averted, Dean did his best to not watch Sam running away from him again.  He finally had to turn and look at his brother, the long, lean body eating up the ground and leaving him behind again.  Dean let Sam run out a good ways before he shifted into gear and slowly followed along behind him. 

Sam's breath came in short, heavy pants and his side ached before he slowed to a jog and then finally, a walk.  He had run a long way, the years spent in track still holding him in good stead.  He'd bulked up a lot since his sophomore year in college, but he'd also kept running.  Shaking sweat out of his long hair, he glanced at the Impala, trailing just behind him and sighed.  He needed to get back in, but he smelled like nothing pleasant.  Still, he halted and waited for Dean.   

When Dean saw Sam slowing and then stopping, he pulled the Impala up beside his brother.  He never knew how to relate to Sam, not after that irrevocable night, but Dean was determined to reforge a relationship with him now. 

"Pop the trunk," Sam said, pulling off his shirt and mopping off the worst of the sweat.  He grabbed his duffle and pulled on a new one, before slamming the lid closed again with undo force.  He sighed and leaned against the back of the Impala, the old, familiar car, which he had hoped never to see again.  Sighing, he climbed back into the front seat, wincing at how his legs bunched up.  "Thanks." 

"Anytime, Sammy."  Dean waited until Sam was settled into the car before putting her back in gear and pulling back onto the road.  "We can probably put another five hours or so on the road before we'll stop for the night.  Keep your eyes open for somewhere to eat." 

"Yeah," Sam said, tucking his head back against the window and curling up into himself again.  He tried to tune out the pounding music and the ugly voice in his head, telling him over and over that he'd killed Jess.  Killed his one chance in life.  
 ~~~~~~~~~~ 

Dean slammed his empty beer bottle onto their table with a hearty sigh.  "That was a good one, Sam, even if we had to fly."  He waved a hand at the waitress to get another round of beer. 

Sam's glance flickered to Dean, and he nodded once, saying, "Yeah," before turning away again.  Admittedly, Dean's fear of flying had given him a moment's amusement, a pleasant change from his normal state of being, but that did not do near enough to rate the hunt as good.  He eyed the burly guy at the bar, wondering if his old tricks would still work well enough to get his ass pounded in the back alley.  He hadn't done that in a long time, but he could use a little dirty fucking. 

Thanking the waitress with his usual flirtatious smile, Dean tipped back the new bottle of beer and sat back in his seat.  Sam didn't seem particularly pleased with the hunt, though Dean figured he was pleased that it ended well.  Dean looked Sam over while his brother was staring at the bar.  Sam sat hunched, hiding from Dean in a manner that frustrated him down to the soles of his feet.  "You wanna play a game of pool?" 

"I'm not very good at it anymore," Sam said, twirling his untouched beer round and round in his fingers.  "You should go ahead.  Sure there's a lot of suckers over there just begging to be hustled."   

"I wasn't talking about hustling, just a game of pool with my brother."  Dean sipped the beer and then clunked it on the table.  Sighing, Dean scrubbed his face.  "But you don't have any interest in even a moment spent with me... so, fine.  I'll leave you alone and go try to hustle us enough money for the next motel."  He pushed back from the table. 

"You seriously aren't trying to guilt trip me, are you?" Sam asked, darkly amused.  "I mean, just a game of pool with my brother?  Please."  He pushed his beer away and leaned back in the booth, stretching out his legs with a relieved sigh that he had some room now.   

Dean shook his head, sadness creeping into his shoulders, while he stood and grabbed his beer.  "Not fucking trying to guilt you, Sam.  Just asked you to play pool, but you go ahead and sit here on your own."  He turned with his bottle of beer and headed toward the back area and the pool tables. 

As soon as Dean left, Sam stood and headed for the guy at the bar.  He pulled out his best shy grin, the kind that made his dimples canyon deep, and leaned next to him.  In a few minutes, he had the guy practically eating out of his hand, three years of Jess' steady company and love not having wiped away all of the practice of the years before.  Sam leaned in to make the kill. 

Nodding at the guys playing pool, Dean dropped some quarters on the edge, lining himself up to the play the winner.  He leaned against the wall, sipping at his beer and sizing up both potential opponents.  When Dean looked back at the bar, he saw Sam heading toward the door with a rather large man following behind him.  He narrowed his eyes.  Sam wasn't doing what Dean thought; he couldn't be. 

Sam didn't even glance back once he headed for the door, knowing he had the other man following him like a puppy.  Finding a concealed spot in the alley out back, he gave the guy some head, just enough to get him hard, before turning around, dropping his jeans and saying, "Fuck me."  The other guy fumbled on a condom, which amused Sam, but then gave him exactly the reaming he wanted.  After, Sam tucked his uninterested cock away, zipped up and left without a word.  He waited for Dean at the Impala, leaning against the shiny black car and staring at nothing.   

Dean play the game of pool, winning by the narrowest of margins he had in a long time.  He'd not hustled the other man, but came out fifty bucks ahead anyway.  When Sam didn't return, Dean handed over the pool cue and sighed, shrugging into his jacket before he headed outside.  Dean saw Sam by the car, walked up to the driver's side, unlocked it, slid in and reached over to unlock Sam's door without saying a word. 

Sam flopped in his seat, his ass throbbing in a way that made him wince and smile in the same second.  He leaned back and said, "I'll find us another hunt tonight.  Wouldn't want to not have something else to do." 

"You do that... how about after you've washed the smell of him off you?"  Dean couldn't help the anger and pain in his voice.  But now he knew where he stood with Sam, two steps lower than a random fuck.  But if that's what Sam wanted, then Dean would just have to respect that.  He turned on the ignition, peeled out of the parking lot and headed toward their motel.  
 ~~~~~~~~~~

Sam tugged at his bonds and sneered at the false image of his brother in front of him.  "You're a crap Dean," he said.  "Dean never whines."   

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged his shoulders.  "You don't have a clue what I think, what I feel, Sammy."  He tested the ropes to be sure they held Sam tight and then moved to straddle his lap.  "You have no idea how I've dreamt of you over the years." 

Sam stared into the false Dean's eyes without a flinch.  "Ok, don't really care about the first and the second, you need to tone down the act.  You're so far off base, nobody will believe you." 

Laughing, Dean settled himself more firmly on Sam's thighs.  "See, that's where you're wrong, Sammy.  People will believe me because I'm telling the truth."  He smiled wryly and then shrugged again.  "Whether you believe it or not, I want you.  I've always wanted you; I just had to do the right thing and tell you no." 

Sam leaned his head back against the pole and said, "Really?  Fascinating.  So, that's why you're straddling my thighs then, Dean?"  He sneered the last word. 

"Had to, Sam.  Past tense."  Dean shook his head.  "You usually listen better than that."  Another smirk, and Dean reached out to push Sam's bangs off his forehead.  "I don't want to say no anymore.  I don't want to know you're fucking other people." 

Sam snapped back from the false Dean's touch, wincing as he banged his head.  "Well, this is awesome," he said dryly.  "I'm getting hit on by my false brother." 

"Why are you in denial over this, Sam?  Why do you think I have to be a false me in order to want you... to admit to wanting you?"  Dean's eyes projected the hurt he felt, his hand's dropping to his own thighs at the way Sam rejected his touch. 

"You're not Dean," Sam said, enunciating each word slowly and carefully.  "So, this is all a bundle of fun, but is there some point to it?" 

"The point is to tell you how much I want you, Sam.  To tell you how badly I ache for you."  Dean almost pouted, pushing up onto his knees and reaching out to touch Sam's cheek.  "I want you to know, to believe that I've always wanted you and that I would do anything at all to have you again." 

"Oh my God," Sam said with a groan.  "Do you want to fuck me, is that what this is about?"   

Dean shook his head.  "I don't just want to fuck you, though that would be nice.  I want you to be my Sammy again.  I want to have with you what I gave up all those years ago." 

"Is the part about not being Dean not penetrating your fake little skull?" Sam asked with a sneer.  "Even if I believed you about Dean's feelings, I wouldn't be with you.  You're not Dean!" 

"I am as much Dean as he is, Sam.  I have all of his memories, all of his thoughts and soon enough, I'll be the only Dean."  The shapeshifter Dean pushed up from Sam's lap and stood tall over him.  "I really don't want to have to hurt you, Sam.  I love you as much as he does; I remember every minute of that night spent together.  Each of the touches burned into the fabric of who I am, and I'd really like to do it again." 

"So, you want me to what, go with you after you kill Dean?" Sam asked with a sigh.  "You really think that's going to work?" 

The shapeshifter shrugged.  "Why not?  I'm more Dean than he is.  I'm not going to turn you away, not going to lie to or hide from you." 

"Wow, you really are deluded," Sam said.  "I guess you're just going to have to hurt me, despite your undying love." 

"Why don't you want me, Sam?  Do you really not want Dean any more?"  The shapeshifter blinked down at Sam, a frown marring his face.   

Dean stood with his back to the wall, just around the corner from the room that Sam was being held in.  He heard the last snatches of conversation as he approached and couldn't bring himself to interrupt just yet- no matter that Sam needed rescuing. 

"You really are pushing it," Sam said.  "I'm not interested in discussing this with a wannabe Dean.  Or a real one, for that matter," he muttered to himself.  He'd barred, boxed, walled and barricaded his heart away from his old feelings for Dean.  No monster was going to persuade him to open it up again.   

The shapeshifter laughed and shook his head.  "You can pretend all you want, Sam.  But you still want Dean.  You still want to feel him pressed against you, fucking you, loving you." 

Sam snarled and lunged against the ropes, the feel of them ripping into his wrists not phasing him.  "If you're going to fuck me, then fuck me.  Or kill me.  Whatever.  But shut up!" 

"You do still want him," the shapeshifter chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest.  "You just can't admit to it.  That's fine.  I'll bring you around." 

Sam slumped in disgusted surrender and said, "You're just going to leave me tied here until I admit to loving Dean, who isn't even you?"   

The shapeshifter laughed.  "I'm just gonna leave you tied here until I can kill Dean, frame Rebecca and come back for you." 

"Well, yeah, that ought to be effective," Sam said, though his heart beat faster when the thing mentioned killing Rebecca.  He did care about keeping her safe, as he had failed to keep Jess safe. 

Shrugging his shoulders, the shapeshifter just smiled.  "Don't care what you think, but you'll still be here when I get back and then we can work on bringing you back around to loving me."   

Dean knew he couldn't wait any longer, so he took a deep breath, shifted the silver knife in his hand and stepped out around the corner.  "I think I have something to say about that, asshole."

Sam kicked out when the shapeshifter turned toward Dean, catching him in the lower leg, so he stumbled and shot into the ground.  "About time you got here."

Rolling his eyes, Dean grunted in Sam's direction and then moved to stand over the shapeshifter. Dean watched his double roll over, while he reached into the back of his jeans with his free hand to pull his gun out. 

The shapeshifter grinned up at Dean, despite his imminent demise.  "I was just talking to little Sammy about how much we love him, since you're not man enough to.  You should shoot yourself, instead of me, and let someone who's not afraid to show how much he cares look after him.  Cause you're doing a pretty crappy job there, Dean." 

"You heard Sam. He doesn't want you.  He might not want me either, but he doesn't want you.  That doesn't give me much incentive to leave Sammy to you."  Dean sighted the gun.  "Really wish you hadn't told him the truth, though I guess it doesn't matter since he didn't believe you."  With that, Dean pulled the trigger, shooting the shifter with the silver bullets- once in the heart and once in the head.

Sam stared at Dean, his mouth open in shock.  He had been prepared to mock the entire incident, tell Dean what a lousy copy the shapeshifter made of him.  But this...  he wasn't ready for this.  "The truth?" he asked in a strangled voice. 

Dean turned sad eyes on Sam and then tucked the gun away.  He moved behind the pole Sam was tied to and slowly started to cut through the bonds, unable to look at his brother.  Sam hadn't believed him about anything in a long, long time, and Dean didn't really expect him to begin again now.

Sam hissed a little and rubbed to get some feeling back into his fingers, even as he avoided the still bleeding cuts on his wrists.  "Are you going to explain?" he asked, turning his head to look at Dean.

"Will you believe anything I say?"  Dean shrugged and then crouched by Sam's feet to slice through the ropes lashing them together.  "You only hear what you think you know is the truth, Sam.  Since I picked you up at Stanford, all I've wanted is to be with you, however you would have me.  But you won't even play a game of pool, or spend any time with me that isn't strictly necessary.  I get it, Sam.  I get that you don't want me anymore, and I'm learning to live with that.  Let's go make sure Rebecca's okay."

Sam staggered to his feet and began to tear up his shirt to bandage his wrists, anger in his motions.  "Five years ago, I handed you my heart on a platter, and you carved it up with a butcher knife and fed it back to me.  I haven't even seen you in four years, so I'm not sure how I'm supposed to have divined that you decided that 'hey, it's all right to fuck my brother, after all.'"  He tied off the second bandage and headed for the exit, calling back, "And in case you forgot, not all that many weeks ago, the woman I had learned to love fried to death on the ceiling in front of my eyes.  So, I don't really know what you think I ought to be doing now, man."  

"Playing a fucking game of pool with me, if I ask, Sam," Dean snapped back.  "You know, I loved you back then, wanted to be with you, but I couldn't.  Not while you were underage, and not when you had a chance at something more."  He scrubbed his hands up and down his face.  "I couldn't forget Jessica, even if I wanted to, Sam.  I saw you with her, saw how happy she made you... how happy I've never been able to make you.  I get that you can't ever go back, that you won't ever love me again.  And I don't blame you, but is a game of pool or some time spent with me really that awful?"

Sam braced himself against a wall and shut his eyes, desperately fighting what he already knew was a losing battle against his own feelings.  He loved Jess with all of his heart that wasn't already given to Dean, no matter how much he refused to let himself acknowledge that love.  And it had been pisspoor compared to how much she deserved to be loved.  "You killed Sammy," he said in a small, lost voice.  "You killed that pathetic kid who loved you with everything he had in him, who wanted nothing more than your love and approval.  Even if I know why you did it and can forgive you.  I never wanted to see you or dad again.  I wanted to make it a clean cut, always scarred, but stitched clean.  No more Sammy.  Just Sam." 

Sam never did answer his question, and Dean figured that meant the answer was that it was that awful.  "Okay, Sam."  Dean sighed and offered Sam the only thing he had to give him: a chance at the life he wanted without Dean or John.  "I'll leave you with Rebecca and whatever I can spare, so you can start over again.  I'm sorry that I dragged you back into this, sorry as I can be that I didn't know to leave you alone."  Dean turned to look back over the room, thinking he should remove the body.

Sam lifted his head and laughed bitterly.  "Start over with what, Dean?  There's nothing left to start over with."  He pushed off from the wall and looked at the dead shifter.  "Leave him.  Then everyone will think you're dead and not be out hunting for you."

"What do you want from me, Sam?"  Dean looked at his brother with anguish.  "When I ask you to spend time with me, you leave me to get fucked by other people.  When I offer to let you go so that you can live without me around, you sneer at the offer.  I can't do anything right by you, Sam, and don't know what you want anymore."

"Sneer?  You think I'm sneering?" Sam asked, hearing his voice crack.  "I'm dead, Dean.  I'm a walking, talking corpse.  My only plan for the future is to hunt until I get myself killed.  Preferably as soon and painlessly as possible.  In fact, if you love me, do you mind just putting a bullet through my head? You'd be doing me a favor."

"I'm not going to kill you, Sam."  Dean shook his head, despairing that they'd ever be close again.  He moved toward the exit.  "C'mon, let me take you to Rebecca's.  We can make sure she's okay and then you can decide what you want to do from there." 

Sam stared at the floor for a moment.  He couldn't believe how his brother had handled his words, his confession that there was nothing left in his life.  Turning his back and walking away, how alike the Winchesters all were.  He sat down, unable to force himself to move.

When Dean got to the sewer exit, he turned to make a comment to Sam and saw his brother wasn't behind him.  With a slightly panicked motion, he turned around and strode back to find Sam sitting on the floor of the room they'd been in.  Dean took several deep breaths and then lowered himself in front of Sam, just looking at his brother.

Sam hunched his shoulders, face buried in his hands, and fought the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him.  He felt Dean's presence nearby and longed for the time when he could just lean into his brother and accept his strength without complication.  And then he figured, fuck it, and let himself collapse into Dean.

Dean wrapped himself around Sam, tugging his brother in as close as possible and just holding him tight.  He didn't say anything, just hummed softly, much as he'd done when Sam was a child.  Dean buried his nose in Sam's hair and rocked him, one hand stroking up and down his back.

Dean's gentle touch and soft noises shattered Sam's defenses, and he found himself sobbing in great, breathless gasps, unable to stop.  Tears streamed down his cheeks and puddled in his neck, until he buried his face in Dean's shoulder.  His hands grabbed tight to Dean's jacket, clutching the material as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. 

Heart breaking for Sam, Dean tightened his grip and rocked him slowly back and forth.  He burrowed one hand in Sam's hair to hold Sam's head against his shoulder while he buried his nose against Sam's scalp.  "Love you so much, Sammy.  So sorry.  Sorry for everything."

Sam's crying finally slowed to a few random hiccups and then stopped.  He continued to cling to Dean, unable to move away from the unexpected support.  "I believe you." 

Dean wasn't about to loosen his grip on Sam.  Not any sooner than he had to, anyway.  Besides yanking his brother out of harm's way, it'd been a long time since he'd been able to hold him.  "Sammy," he murmured, eyes squeezing shut at Sam's words.

"I need time, Dean.  Time to get over Jess and five years of hurting and building walls to protect myself from you," Sam whispered.  "But I promise to try.  To let this give me something to live for... but I need you to promise no more chicks, to stay close and not let me forget you love me.  K?"

"Anything for you, Sammy.  Anything at all."  Dean stroked his hand up and down Sam's back.  Though he wanted so much more, if Dean could just get his brother back in his life -and not this shell-he would be well and truly happy.  He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Sam's head and squeezed his eyes closed again.

Sam sighed and struggled out of Dean's arms.  "We shouldn't be caught here with a dead you in the other room," he said.  He managed a little grin.  "Only you would manage to get into so much trouble without it even being you."

Dean pulled a cocky grin out of himself and tilted his head at Sam.  "It's cause only I'm that good, Sammy."  He winked, then dropped the facade and stood.  Offering a hand to Sam, Dean hoped that they could move forward from there.

Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean's and let himself get pulled to his feet.  "Yeah, you really can be, De," he said and then turned to walk out with his brother.  
~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sam rubbed his cheek against the comforting warmth of Dean's t-shirt, soaking in everything he could before they separated to sleep.  Not that Sam got much sleep.  The weeks since their fateful encounter with the shapeshifter had not been easy, exactly, but the tensions between them eased more with each passing day.  Sam began to see the things worth living for again, starting with how very much Dean did love him.  Their current arrangement was a perfect case in point- Dean would never allow anyone else to cuddle up with him the way he was letting Sam. 

Dean lay, eyes closed and Sam tucked close to his body.  He stroked leisurely over Sam's back with one hand while the other traced lightly over Sam's arm.  It was a comforting, close feeling to have his brother curled around him, even if Dean wasn't used to sharing space this closely with anyone. 

Sam pushed his face deeper into Dean's chest and filled his lungs with a couple breaths of Dean-scented air.  His hand on Dean's shoulder tightened and loosened a couple of times, before he asked softly, "Do you think all supernatural things are evil?" 

"I don't know, Sam.  I mean, everything we ever heard from Dad is that they are.  Every one is an evil son of a bitch."  Dean sighed and reached his hand up to stroke over Sam's head.  "But Dad was wrong about a lot of things, and there are some supernatural things that haven't seemed evil at all.  So, I guess not." 

Sam nodded a little and pressed into the gentle hand.  "Dean, I- I think I'm having visions," he said. 

"Visions?" Dean asked cautiously, fingers stroking lightly over Sam's scalp.  "What kind of visions?" 

Sam blew out a long breath and tried to press deeper into the protection of Dean's broad chest.  "Before Jess- before she died, I dreamed of her burning to death on the ceiling.  And not just once.  I ignored the dreams, thought they were some sort of sick remnant from my previous experiences with the supernatural, leaking into my normal life.  But then it came true... it's why my eyes bled during the Bloody Mary thing." 

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, but continued to stroke Sam's hair gently.  "Sammy," he breathed.  There were so much in the sound of his voice, but Dean knew that it was hopeless to apologize again- especially for something he wasn't involved in.  "Have you had other visions?" 

Sam nodded again, even more reluctant to talk about this, but knowing he needed to say the words.  "I've been dreaming recently about... home.  Lawrence.  About something in our old house."  He shut his eyes and shuddered.  "I'm sorry, De." 

Dean tightened his grasp around Sam.  "Our house?  I mean... how do you know?  You weren't old enough to remember the place."  Dean turned his head and brushed a soft kiss over Sam's hair. 

"I have a picture," Sam said.  "There was something so eerily familiar about what I was seeing, but it took me awhile to realize it was from the picture."  He lifted his head enough to press a soft kiss to the line of Dean's chin, wanting the closeness. 

Dean leaned into Sam's touch, though he was careful not to push.  Instead, he closed his eyes and let Sam guide their contact.  "What have you been seeing, Sam?"

Sam rubbed his head on Dean's chest as he spoke, "Someone trapped in the house, banging at the window.  And some force trapping her inside."  He tightened his grip on Dean's shoulder and pressed closer.  "I don't know what it is." 

"Do you think-" Dean paused and took a deep breath, fingers massaging at Sam's scalp.  "Do you think this is like your dreams of Jessica?" 

Sam considered and then nodded once.  "Yeah.  They feel the same somehow.  More real than dreams.  Less real than being awake."  

Dean let Sam's words resonate around the both of them for a few moments while he continued the massaging.  He enjoyed the moments that Sam let him be this close.  "Well, how about we get on the road first thing and check it out, Sam?" 

"You don't mind going back to Lawrence, Dean?  I don't have the same memories that you do... of mom and stuff, but I know you've never wanted to go back."  Sam sighed a little at the idea of his brother going home. 

"I don't want to go home, Sam.  No.  But, if you think someone's in danger, then we go."  For Dean, there was no other option.  He couldn't possibly have information, or potential information, on someone in danger, and not do something about it. 

Sam nodded once and then fell silent for a few moments.  "Do you think my visions are evil?"  

"No, Sammy, I don't think your powers are evil."  Dean slowly stroked Sam's back up and down.  He massaged at the base of Sam's scalp and held him close and tight. 

"I'm afraid of them, Dean," Sam admitted softly.  "They're a complication I really don't need.  I'm screwed up enough."  He slid up to rest his head under Dean's chin. 

Dean closed his eyes and breathed out.  "I know, Sam, but it's not something you can turn off, so we'll deal with it.  Right?" 

Sam trembled a little and said, "I need you to help me, De.  I can't do all this alone."  He let out a deep, slow breath. 

"You don't have to.  Not ever again, Sam."  Dean breathed out, shaky in the face of his uncertainty in Sam's trust and belief.  All he could do was to try and prove to Sam that what he said was what he meant. 

Sam nodded once and said, "I can do some research on the Lawrence area tomorrow... unless you want me to start tonight."  He slid his hand down Dean's shoulder to rub gently on his stomach. 

Shuddering, Dean shook his head.  "No, Sam.  Not tonight.  Tomorrow is soon enough.  Tonight we can just relax." 

Sam smiled a little and said with a hint of warmth, "Do you want to do anything else to relax?"  He lifted his head to smile sleepily at Dean. 

"Are you not relaxing?  Do you need something else to be comfortable?"  Dean breathed slowly in and out. 

"Back rub?" Sam asked in his most pathetic voice.  He gave Dean the complete forlorn puppy treatment. 

Dean chuckled, rubbing his chin at the top of Sam's head before pressing a soft kiss on temple.  "Yeah, you want a back rub?  I think I can manage that one." 

Sam rolled off the bed, stood and headed for his bag.  He pulled out a small bottle of massage oil, taking a deep breath to push back tears when he remembered Jess using it on him to help relieve the aches.  Setting the bottle on the nightstand, he shrugged out of his shirt, lay face down on his bed and waited for Dean.   

Staying quiet while Sam moved about the room, Dean waited until his brother settled on the bed before he pushed to his feet.  A slight adjustment to his cock, and he moved to grab the bottle of the oil.  Dean opened it and drizzled a decent amount up and down each side of Sam's back, before capping it and tossing it on the bed.  He settled in and slowly stroked both hands from Sam's lower back to his shoulders. 

Sam sighed happily and settled deep into the mattress.  He allowed himself to relax completely and said, "Jess used to do this for me.  My back aches a lot, cause of my height." 

"Yeah?"  Dean's heart twinged, both at the reminder of Jess and at the fact that Sam suffered from back aches.  He stroked slowly up and down until Sam's back was covered in oil.  Then Dean settled both hands on Sam's shoulders and started a rhythmic, squeezing motion to try and relieve any aches. "You know you can ask me for a massage any time, Sam."  His voice was soft, hesitant. 

"Mmm," Sam said, the touch of Dean's hands warming more than just his back.  "Wouldn't want to get too demanding, De.  I know you don't like chick flick stuff." 

Dean chuckled harshly, knowing Sam was correct.  "Yeah, but Sam, if your back aches, I want to help you.  Okay?" 

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of injuries to help each other with, if we keep going this way," Sam said, slurring the words in his relaxed state.  He arched a little into a particularly nice touch to his middle back. 

Nodding, Dean stroked over the same spot a few times, enjoying the way that Sam trusted him.  It was a good feeling, and one that Dean had missed.  "Probably.  Just, ask if you need it, okay?"

Sam twisted his head a little to look at Dean through blurry eyes.  "You like doing this?" he asked, voice soft, deep and mellow.

"Yeah, Sam, I do."  Dean bit his lower lip, ducked his head and went back to working on a particularly stubborn muscle at Sam's lower back.  He could feel that was where Sam carried most of his tension.

Sam groaned low and long as Dean dug into the worst of his aches.  He clenched the sheets in his hands, finally regaining his speaking abilities when Dean eased off again.  "You want to do this for me?"

Dean cleared his throat, his hands still working at Sam's tension spots and then sighed.  "Yes, Sam.  I want to take care of you, to help you.  If you'll let me."

Sam turned his head further, reading Dean's expression with cautious hope.  He tilted his chin up and asked, "Would you like to kiss me?"

"Sam."  Dean's voice was hoarse, raw with emotion.  He stopped using the massage as a distraction and rested his hands on the heated skin of Sam's back.  "Please."

Sam nodded a little and said, "Let me turn over then, Dean.  I can't really kiss you from this angle."  He smiled, soft and warm.

Dean nodded, not entirely sure he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating.  Pushing up from the bed, Dean stood and stared at Sam.  "Are you sure, Sam?"  Dean didn't know if he could handle having Sam change his mind or being upset by this.

Sam rolled on his back, propped himself up on some pillows and then chuckled softly at Dean's words.  "I was the one who wanted it first, De.  And begged for it many times."

"But you haven't wanted it for a long time now, Sam.  You'd hardly let me touch you until recently."  Dean stood rooted to the floor when Sam reclined on the pillows.  He ached to settle next to his brother, to take Sam in his arms and kiss him.

"It's been weeks since I started letting you touch me again, De," Sam said, watching Dean closely.  "Thank you for taking things slow for me.  I need more time before we do much more, but... I want to sleep in your arms tonight, okay?"

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice to answer Sam.  He blinked down at Sam and then sat on the edge of the bed, still not touching, but close enough that Sam could reach him when he was ready.  "I'd like that, Sam."

"You have to cross the divide, De," Sam said.  "Yours to end what you began."  He titled up his head, closing his eyes and waiting for Dean.

"You asked if I wanted to kiss you, Sam, and I do.  But I need to hear from you that you want to kiss me, too."  Dean slid closer to Sam, his hand coming to rest in the middle of Sam's chest.

Sam caught the hand on his chest and twined their fingers together.  "Kiss me, De," he whispered, angling his head forward.  "Kiss me and make me yours again."

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips gently over Sam's on a sigh.  He kept it light, barely there, his fingers clenching around Sam's.  When Dean pulled back, he smiled at Sam.  "I love you, Sam."  Then, Dean leaned in again and pressed his lips more firmly to Sam's.

"Use my other name," Sam whispered, before tilting his head and parting his lips to allow Dean as much access as he wanted.  He flicked his tongue along Dean's mouth, seeking the taste of the one person he loved best in the world.

"Sammy."  Dean breathed the name over Sam's lips and then opened to Sam's tongue.  He leaned closer, but kept himself braced over Sam so that his brother still had control of the kiss.

The soft whisper of Dean's name for him, the one Sam allowed nobody else to use, broke the last of the barriers to his heart.  As waters from a broken dam, Sam's love for Dean flooded through him, until he felt suffused with it through every pore.  He wrapped his arms tight around Dean and kissed back frantically, the way he had their one night together.

Unprepared for Sam's enthusiasm, Dean groaned and sank into the kiss.  He returned the passion with an equal amount of his own, one hand coming to rest near Sam's head so he could stroke his thumb up and down Sam's cheek.  Dean gave Sam everything and took back all that Sam was willing to give.

Sam felt tears drip down his cheeks again and cursed himself for a hormonal idiot.  But he couldn't help them, needed the outlet, after all the emotional twists and turns in his recent life. The kiss did not slow, however, and he sank back into the pillows, pulling Dean with him.  "Say it again, De," he whispered, pulling back a little.

Dean allowed Sam to pull him down, covering Sam's chest with his own through the kiss.  He was helpless in the face of Sam's request and pulled back to smile tremulously at Sam.  "I love you, Sammy," he whispered.

Sam kissed Dean again, holding him close and lavishing him with five years of denied affection.  He finally ceased the kiss to pant for breath, but held Dean close.   "Why couldn't you have just said it then, jerk?"

"Because I didn't understand then just how little anything but loving you really matters, Sammy."  Dean rested his forehead on Sam's, breathing in and out as best he could while so close to Sam.

"We could have skipped all the middle part and just had this," Sam said, running his hands over Dean's sides and back.  "I never would have left.  Not ever, De."  He pressed soft kisses to Dean's cheeks, counting freckles under his breath.

Dean's breath choked off when he thought of the years spent without Sam, of the pain even when they were still together.  "I know, Sammy.  And I can't tell you how sorry I am that I caused so much hurt."  In many ways, Dean was still uncertain about loving Sam, but he could never stop and it seemed stupid to fight any longer.

"You really did think you were doing what was best for me, De," Sam said, now kissing down Dean's neck and lingering to make a small mark under his ear.  "Made me love you even more, you idiot." 

Shuddering at the feel of Sam touching him, responding to him, Dean closed his eyes.  "I really thought it was best."  He dropped his head to the side, tilting so his throat was bared to Sam.

Sam pressed his face into the exposed length of Dean's neck and breathed out a little sigh.  "'M tired, De.  Can we sleep like this?  I'll start some research tomorrow.  Do you want to call Jo- dad?"

"Only if you want me to call him."  Dean turned his head and kissed Sam's temple.  "We can sleep like this, or sort of like this.  I'm not exactly laying down yet.  Give me a second?"  Arching his eyebrow, Dean waited for Sam to release him so he could actually stretch out.

"This is about Lawrence," Sam whispered, "so I think he'd want to know."  He kissed the soft skin beneath his mouth.  "I meant can we sleep tangled in each other like this, not in this exact position."  He smiled and released Dean, rolling off the bed himself to undo the covers.  He paused and looked over Dean with a soft, wondering expression, before slipping under the sheets.

"I'll call Dad in the morning, while you're doing some research."  Dean chuckled, blushing slightly when he stood and helped Sam pull down the covers.  He hooked his hand in the back of his shirt and then looked at Sam.  "Do you care if I take off my shirt, Sammy?"

"Dean," Sam chided softly, "do what feels natural.  I don't need you to ask permission for everything.  I don't want you to."  He reached under the covers and slid off his boxers, dropping them on the floor.

Dean blinked, the sight of Sam's boxers hitting the floor causing him to swallow hard.  He nodded.  "Yeah, okay, Sam."  Tugging off the shirt, Dean dropped it to the floor and then slid his boxers down and off.  He lifted the covers and slid beneath them, laying flat on his back with his head turned to Sam.

Watching Dean slide between the covers, Sam smiled and then scooted over.  He rolled on his front, lying half on Dean, and settled his head next to Dean's on the pillow.  "Night, De."

Dean curled his arm around Sam, not caring that it'd likely go numb, and smiled.  Reaching up with his free hand, Dean turned off the light and then turned his face to bury his nose against Sam's hair on a sigh.  
~~~~~~~

Sam shut his laptop, stretched, stood up from the cramped motel chair and flopped on the bed next to Dean.  He wiggled around until he found a comfortable spot with his head resting on Dean's shoulder and one leg thrown over his.  "Is that how you remembered her?" he asked.

"Pretty much exactly, Sammy.  I mean, she looked so much like she did when we were little."  Dean held his arms up until Sam had settled against him and then dropped them to curl around Sam's body.  He stroked slowly up and down Sam's back with a smile.  "I wish you had memories of her; she was a great mom."

"She was beautiful," Sam breathed, scooting forward to press kisses to Dean's jaw.  "I'm glad I got to see her.  What is your favorite memory of her?"

Dean chuckled and leaned into Sam.  "There are a couple.  When she was pregnant with you, probably in the last couple of months, I couldn't really sit on her lap.  So, I'd lay on the couch and rest my head on her belly.  She'd read stories to us like that, letting me poke at her stomach when you'd kick or punch."

Sam smiled at the image and slid his hand under Dean's shirt, resting it on his warm skin.  "Did I kick and punch a lot?"

"Sometimes.  Usually when Dad came home."  Dean laughed.  "You were always restless with his voice, but you seemed to relax when it was just me and mom."

"Was already fighting with him in the womb," Sam said with mixed amusement and sorrow.  He spread his fingers and stroked over the soft skin protecting Dean's stomach, enjoying the freedom to touch as he desired.  "Did you tell me stories?"

Laughing, Dean nodded.  "Yeah, sometimes.  I'd tell you all about being big and playing games and things like that.  I was convinced you were a boy, just like me, though mom kept telling that you could have been a girl, too."

Sam laughed and lifted his head to kiss Dean more properly.  "You all right?  Going home and all?"  He removed his hand from Dean's stomach to trace it over the curves of his face, relearning every line by touch.

"As good as I can be going back to where it all started, Sam."  Dean sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into Sam's touch.  He couldn't know what would have happened, how they would have grown up if it hadn't been for the demon, for mom's death.  No one could.  But Dean didn't want to look to closely at it because he knew that he'd never have Sam this way in that world.

Sam tasted Dean's mouth with gentle kisses and said, "You're pretty relaxed for me, De.  Just passively accepting whatever I'm willing to give you.  What do you want for yourself?"

"I just want you with me, Sam.  I want to be able to look over in the Impala and see you, want to be able to come back to the room and hold you."  Pretty simple desires, but they were what Dean wanted most in the world.

"Make love to me?" Sam asked, nuzzling Dean's cheek.  He could not believe what a closet romantic his big, tough, older brother had turned out to be.  But he couldn't find it in himself to tease. 

Dean opened his mouth to ask Sam if he was sure, but then closed it.  Sam had told him to stop asking, to stop second guessing everything.  "Anything you want, Sammy."  He smiled and turned his head to brush his lips across Sam's.  A few moments in, Dean pulled back and then rolled Sam onto his back.  "Love you, Sammy," he murmured, before trailing a kiss down Sam's throat.

Sam laughed and held Dean tightly in his arms, cupping his head and pulling him into a kiss.  "I meant is that something else you want, De," he said, "but I think you just answered me."  He let Dean go back to his neck.

Laughing into Sam's throat, Dean closed his eyes and wrapped himself around Sam.  It'd been a question, not an invitation, and Dean forced his body to take a few steps back.  "Guess I did, didn't I?"  He pressed another kiss to Sam's throat before resting his cheek on Sam's chest.

"Hey," Sam said, stroking Dean's hair gently, "do you want to make love to me now, Dean?  Please just say yes or no, huh?"

"Yes, Sam.  God, yes, I want to."  Dean lifted his head against Sam's hand with a soft sigh.

"Do you want to be in me, De?" Sam asked.  He rubbed through Dean's short hair, but was otherwise passive, letting Dean lead whatever way he wanted.

Dean closed his eyes while Sam rubbed at his head.  He dipped it into the touch and then forced his eyes open again to nod at Sam.  "Yeah, Sammy.  I do... wanna be inside you again, so bad."

Sam smiled a little and nodded once at Dean.  "I don't know though, dude," he said, lightly teasing.  "I think maybe I should be on top now, since I'm so much bigger than you."

Laughing, Dean nipped the skin on Sam's stomach between his teeth.  "Yeah?  You think that means you should top?"  Dean stroked his hands up and down Sam's thighs, deliberately avoiding his cock.  "You are big, Sammy, I'll give you that.  Some night, I definitely want you to fuck your way inside me, but tonight..."  He trailed off and shook his head.  "Tonight I want to make love to you, to make up for all the hurt."

Sam narrowed his eyes a little at Dean, wondering how Dean being on top equaled that, but said simply, "I consider either way making love to each other, Dean, not fucking."

"That's not what I meant, Sammy.  Just- let me do this for you, please?"  Dean climbed up Sam's body, curling his hand around Sam's jaw.

Sam pushed up to kiss Dean lightly and covered the hand on his jaw with his own.  "You want to do this for me?"

"For us, but yes, I want to give you this."  Dean brushed a light kiss on Sam's lips in return.

Sam paused a few beats, studying Dean's face, before he nodded and lay back again.  "Please, De."

Dean bent down and kissed Sam thoroughly before pulling back with a smile and sliding down his body.  This time he didn't tease Sam, simply curled his right hand at the base of Sam's cock and slid his tongue around the head.  Opening his mouth, Dean suckled on the tip and then slid his mouth so slowly over Sam.

Sam groaned and pushed up a little into Dean's warm, talented mouth.  His throat fell back on a deep cry of want and need.  Flashes of the other time Dean had done this for him filled his mind.  He remembered how hard he had fought not to come too fast and his utter failure.  He'd filled Dean's mouth with seed before he could even get halfway. 

Groaning at the sounds Sam made for him, Dean worked his mouth up and down Sam's cock with an enthusiasm he hadn't shown the first time.  He closed his eyes, pulled up the shaft and hollowed his cheeks so that he could flutter his tongue at the nerves under the head.

Sam keened when Dean targeted the sensitive areas of his cock, glad that age had brought him a little more control.  He reached for Dean's head and then detoured at the last moment to grab the sheets instead, not wanting to force his brother to do anything other than he planned.  "Oh yes, De."  
.      
Suckling at Sam for a while, Dean raked his free hand over Sam's stomach to feel the muscles rippling and moving under his touch.  He loved giving Sam pleasure, remembered the eagerness Sam had displayed so long ago and wanted to feel Sam lose control like that again.  Dean sucked harder, head moving faster in the hopes that he could make Sam come.

Dean was an evil master, driving Sam toward the edge much sooner than he wanted.  The hand on his stomach soothed and excited him at the same time, reminding Sam again of Dean's touch so long ago- gentle, yet thrilling.  He arched helplessly after a moment of Dean's increased efforts and came with an embarrassing speed and level of noise.

Dean sucked and slurped, swallowing everything he could get and then licking Sam's cock clean.  He hummed softly, dropping his head to Sam's thigh and kissing him there gently.  "God, Sam," Dean groaned, voice husky from Sam's cock hitting his throat.  Digging his hands into Sam's hips, he levered himself up and over Sam to kiss him thoroughly again.

"Yeah," Sam said in a dazed tone, before kissing Dean back.  He lifted his arms, after extracting his fingers from the bedraggled sheets, and wrapped them around Dean.  "I want to do that now."

"You do?"  Dean gave Sam another small kiss and then rolled to the side, head propped on one hand while he trailed the other over Sam's chest and stomach, unable and unwilling to stop touching Sam.

Sam turned his head to smile dopily at Dean.  "Mmmhmm.  I'd like to."  His whole body felt heavy and contented from orgasm.  He reached out to brush his fingers over Dean's face.  "In a minute."

Dean leaned into the touch, turning his head to kiss the tips of Sam's fingers.  "You don't need to, Sam; you can just get some strength back while I continue to make love to you."

Sam chuckled and ran his fingers over Dean's plush mouth.  "You don't ask much of me, De.  Just want me to let you do everything."

"At least this time, Sam."  Dean smiled at his brother.  "Trust me, there'll be plenty of times that I'll be a demanding ass about it."

Sam snorted and rolled over, facing Dean with clearer eyes.  "I didn't really expect us to get here so fast, De.  Thought I'd force you to talk it over with me first."  He shook his bangs out of his eyes and smiled, a tad shyly, at Dean.

Dean chuckled softly, then leaned in and rubbed their noses together.  "We take this at your pace, Sam.  You wanna stop here and now, we stop.  You need me to slow down, change course, whatever- it's yours."

The affectionate gesture made Sam feel more loved than anything else Dean had done so far.  He returned the nose rub and pressed soft kisses to Dean's cheeks.  "I want everything with you, De.  I keep thinking of that other time.  You were so gentle with me, even when I knew you wanted to thrust as hard as possible."

"I didn't want to hurt you, Sammy.  Didn't want to scare you."  Dean kissed Sam, full of gentle passion and love.  "We'll have everything, Sammy.  There's no rush, just what we want, when we're ready for it."

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and held him tightly.  "What do you want right now, De?  You want to be in me, yeah?  You want to take me deep and slow."

Dean nodded.  "More than anything else I could think of, Sam."

"Yeah.  All right."  Sam moved on his stomach, presenting his ass to Dean.  "Make it last, De."

Grabbing the lube from the nightstand, Dean opened it, slicked his fingers and then paused.  Sam's tone of voice had been okay, but his words were a bit on the fence.  "Are you sure, Sammy?"  The last thing he wanted was regret in the morning.

Sam raised his ass in the air and waved it a few times.  "Come on, big bro, make me yours," he said, batting his lashes like a pro.

Dean snorted.  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam's lower back and then spread his cheeks wide open.  Swirling one finger around Sam's hole, he took a deep breath and gently pressed it forward, opening Sam up for him.

Sam yelped and then pushed back against the intrusion, forcing Dean in deeper.  "Warm the lube next time," he muttered, working himself on Dean's hand.

Chuckling, Dean shook his head.  Trust Sam to be demanding.  Then again, Dean loved that about him.  He pressed his finger slowly, but steadily deep inside Sam.  "So tight, Sammy.  God... don't want to hurt you."  Dean slid the finger out and then pressed it back inside. "Are you sure, Sammy?  I want you to be sure."  He poised both fingers at Sam's hole, stroking the lubed tip of one finger back and forth.

"I'm sure, De," Sam said, arching his ass even higher.  "Come on, I want this."

Pushing the fingers forward, Dean groaned at the sight of Sam's body slowly opening to him.  He kept up the pressure until his fingers were as far in as they could go, then twisted them gently and slid them back out.  Over and over again, Dean worked Sam's hole until he felt it was an easy enough glide to add a third finger.

Sam sighed and moaned and rocked for Dean, letting him open Sam up slow and easy.  He knew Dean worried about hurting him, about damaging him in any way.  So, he let his impatience die and continued working at Dean's pace.

Once Dean had Sam opened with three fingers, he slid them out, pressed a kiss to Sam's back and then sat up.  "Condom or not, Sam?  Your choice.  I'm clean, I promise."

Sam arched an eyebrow at Dean and said, "And you trust me, given some of what I've been doing lately? Wear a condom, De.  I should get checked out later."

Dean had forgotten, in the midst of being with Sam, that his brother had been behaving out of character.  Nodding, Dean stood and went to his bag, rummaging through to find the string of condoms tucked in a pocket.  He tore one off the strip and ripped it open, dropping the packet, while he walked and slid the condom down his cock.  "Love you so much, Sammy," he murmured sitting on the bed.  "Will you turn over for me?  Please."

Sam stretched a little and then rolled over to face Dean. He smiled up at him, eyes soft and loving. Spreading his legs, he said, "All yours."

Crawling on the bed, Dean climbed between Sam's thighs and then up his body. "Love you." He leaned down and kissed Sam before reaching down and guiding himself to Sam's body, pressing gently inside.

"De," Sam said, letting his legs wrap around Dean. "Yes, De. Come on." He pushed up into Dean and dug his hands into the covers.

Dean pushed forward, hips pressing into Sam. "On me, Sammy, put your hands on me. I want to feel your touch on my skin."

Sam released his hold on the bed and wrapped his hands around Dean. He stroked down his sides and back, as he thrust to match Dean's hips. "Please, De, take me."

Smiling at Sam, Dean dipped his head and kissed him. He pulled his hips back and thrust forward, pushing slightly harder than before, as he set up a steady rhythm for them both.

"So perfect, De. So deep inside. Feels so good." Sam thumbed down Dean's cheek and over his bottom lip. "Kiss me."

"Always, Sammy." Dean kissed Sam, twining their tongues together and keeping his rhythm. Stroking in and out, Dean hitched his hips and tried to angle so that he'd hit Sam's sweet spot.

Sam kissed back, accepting Dean's tongue in his mouth as easily as Dean's cock in his ass. He loved the gentle rhythm, the deep strokes. Moaning into Dean's mouth, he clutched his shoulders and pulled him closer.

Dean stroked one hand down Sam's side, over his hip and flank to his knee and hitched Sam's leg up and over his own hips. He delved in for an even deeper kiss, breaking only to suck in enough air to kiss Sam all over again.

Sam broke away from Dean's mouth and collapsed back into the pillows. He smiled up at Dean, body still moving with Dean for both their pleasure. It was so much better than sex he had with anyone, even Jess. "I love you, De."

"Love you, too, Sammy."  Dean rocked his hips, smooth and slow, in and out motion.  It'd been so long coming for them, so far from a possibility for so long, and Dean wanted to savor every moment.  He dragged Sam's other leg up and around him, angling his brother's hips so he'd glide over Sam's sweet spot with each stroke.

Sam smoothed his hands over Dean's ass and hips, feeling the muscles working there, driving him in and out.  He moaned and threw back his head as Dean's movements began to bring him almost constant stimulation of his prostate.  His eyes fell shut, and he saw again their one other time together, remembered pleasure he had never felt before or since.

Dean dropped his head forward, resting it on Sam's chest while pumping his hips in and out.  He sped up, faster and faster, as each stroke of Sam's prostate made his brother clench tight around him.  The pleasure spiraled higher and higher, making Dean thrust harder and faster until he shifted slightly to the side to slide his hand between them and grasp Sam's cock.  "Want you with me, Sammy.  C'mon, wanna feel you come."

Sam shook a little and opened his eyes to watch Dean stroke him.  He responded by thrusting even harder, words of pleasure and love spilling from his lips in a constant stream, so nothing was distinguishable.  When he came, it was a total surprise, as his body clamped down on Dean and splattered them both with evidence of his pleasure.

Dean orgasm came almost immediately on the heels of Sam convulsing around him.  He pulsed into the condom, silently cursing the need for it, but convinced they'd do without soon. Sam would never be with anyone else again, and neither would he. 

Sam rode out his orgasm and Dean's before slumping back into the bed with a tired, completed sigh.  He stroked over Dean's face and back with one lazy hand, content to just bask in the afterglow.  At last, they had found their way full circle, back in each other's arms and hearts, where they had always belonged.


End file.
